sábado, 14 de fevereiro de 2009
Dreaming in Dublin
He was in Dublin for only two years. The city never seemed so charming since he arrived there like now. That morning, specially, he could look through his window and see the mountains, the green and the gray living together peacefully. The smell of the city and its effects over him were something one would think as scary.
After a bath, with his hair still wet, holding his favorite cup with hot milk and being dressed informally to go out in a while, he couldn't think of anything, but the invasion the spirit of the town could produce over his body and soul.
No matter how many drops of rain would fall that morning, how gray would be the sky or how low were the degrees, he felt so familiar to that weather and the sensations it could inspire that nothing could destroy the feeling of acommodation he experimented inside him.
It was everything there: the landscapes, the laughs, the people, the feelings, the love affairs. The weather and the traditions. The wet hair and the cup of milk. All inside him.
He just had to go now.