I went there for two days again. No one went with me. It felt good. And bad.
I sat silently near the window of the plane. It was totally dark outside. No one seemed to care about nothing. The wind shouted to be heard, loud noises caused the ears to ring, and the last crazy flash of light got my attention. It was the light of hope. And, in a moment right after that flash vanished, I thought I was unable to see it again. “I was dead wrong”, I murmured, realizing something deep in the eyes of mine. That incomplete image of a ray of hope from the white light remained intact.
Inside every single ray of light was part of the city… that cried. The city - it rained the minute I stood still before a garden. The rain poured down the minute I left you behind, the flowers and strawberries. Drops of celestial waters fell from above like tears. The city - it came out to me as a young guy, and that feeling should never be exposed.
Having realized how boring it became to work for anybody out there that always hungered for fame and money, I quit my job, stayed ‘loyal’ to being a freelancer and ‘tried to go out’. Because my heart would fall apart one day. Because an early death was already ‘written’ all over my whole body. I lost all the motivations to live, and at some points, wanted to give up. But the city - it changed me a bit, it gave me a bit to stay awake.
By noon, I had already been there before someone came to asked me why I was here. The second time to stay in a local guest house, all alone as usual in a city that stole my heart. Miserable as it might be, I would learn how to handle it by my own. Just as I was destined to grow and live as a loner. Or I unconsciously chose to stay independent. Or I did it on purpose.
I fell in love with the city for no reason. The city - it was beautified by the sadness that was nowhere to be found. The city - it still survived and moved on. How could I be like it?