Sol has made his triumphant return to the skies, chasing all my beautiful clouds out of the sky and coating the city with a shimmer that seems almost dirty in the haze of pollen and seeds. I'm gazing earthward again, pushing my body through the air with earphones and backpack, cutting the hazy sunsets as I chase nothing, wanting only release and never completely finding it.
Time seems to pass faster when I'm on my feet. Abandoning convenience leaves cramps in my calves and a ringing in my arches, shooting pulses of memory into my bones that I do, indeed, love this place, dirty streets and dirty residents, ugly bar floors and feedback. I've been accused of being in love with love, yes, and my accuser is more correct than she'll ever be about anything else, but love is painful and beautiful and that's what this city is to me, so much of everything that I can now love it even under the sun. I call this place the city of poets with a sideways glance, but that's all it is, even if the only true poets here are the lights in the sky and their dark lovers.
If my heart must truly be without a home, this is the best possible place to be indigent.
Time seems to pass faster when I'm on my feet. Abandoning convenience leaves cramps in my calves and a ringing in my arches, shooting pulses of memory into my bones that I do, indeed, love this place, dirty streets and dirty residents, ugly bar floors and feedback. I've been accused of being in love with love, yes, and my accuser is more correct than she'll ever be about anything else, but love is painful and beautiful and that's what this city is to me, so much of everything that I can now love it even under the sun. I call this place the city of poets with a sideways glance, but that's all it is, even if the only true poets here are the lights in the sky and their dark lovers.
If my heart must truly be without a home, this is the best possible place to be indigent.