A haze of cigarette smoke engulfs me as the late afternoon sun drenches the courtyard in its light. Looking at the calendar I’m shocked to see August ticking away, time escapes me. ...
Shades of melancholy drape her like satin rose.
Soft wind blows through the blossoming trees, brushing last individual petals, they fall one by one.
A creeping suspicion has dawned on me, I am loosing sight of my path and my goal. Clouded by egos and driven by fears I have lost my way.
For now it is ciao, to Uno Cappuccino that is, and possibly writing for a while until I realise what it is again that sparks my passions.
p.s when I am back to writing and blogging I shall post on here my new address, my new space.
A haze of cigarette smoke engulfs me as the late afternoon sun drenches the courtyard in its light. Looking at the calendar I’m shocked to see August ticking away, time escapes me.
Sweating out the sins of the weekend, no money for todays rent I sit Monday morning glass of red wine in hand. What had started off as a meet and greet turned into a three day long, coke fuelled bender.
Dark clouds engulf the sky, a crisp wind whips my face, a relief from my current state.
I again find my myself at this crossroad, my self my own worst enemy. Torn between two sides my inner turmoil worsens.
Soon I will be back to trailing the airports of the world, back to where I feel most comfortable, in a limbo of worlds and cultures, a place of nowhere
A hush sweeps over the city as lights glisten through the constant drizzle of rain. Cafes line the walkways as coffee connoisseurs with discerning taste spill out of the entrances, the soft glow of candle lit tables seduce within.
This night, like the many before it, will soon be a distant memory.
Lately, an easy, laid back style with a touch of luxury has been catching my eyes. Think coffee runs in cashmere and Sequins.
Coffee in hand I sit cafe roadside, thoughts pour through me as coffee does through my veins. A scribbled notebook sits besides me, filled with random shit in obsessive repetition. I light another cigarette.
“I’m always miserable” he replied as smoke escaped the crevices of his smirk. I look over his naked body, cigarette in hand and glasses on he looks back at me, “I’m going to be 40 this year and I have done nothing with my life”. I draw in a deep breath of smoke, focusing on the bare white walls “well… What did you want to have done by now?” I reply.
The inner workings of his mind tick over, “I’m not even able to read Marx in German” he sombrely whispered to no one. I roll my eyes and light another cigarette, “I’m going back to London or Edinburgh at the end of the year, use it as a base to travel Europe, France most probably”.
He let out a small moan, mumbling on about his thesis, the depressing state of being by a genius hypochondriac, or something to that name. “I’m jealous, I tell every young person I meet to seize the day” he smirks “ah and to learn French, if only, many of the best modern philosophers write in French” he groans.
He continues mumbling names I was unaware of with meanings I’m unsure of, his words simply noise to me as a get up and gather my things, I turn around to look at him, “well do it”.
A haze of cigarette smoke surrounded her as she sat, facing the city which unfolded beyond her, sirens wail into the silent night. The last mouthful of wine burns her throat, she steadies herself against the bare white walls, candles flicker. She knows this night like the many before it will soon be a distant memory.
I’m rarely in bed before sunrise, or up before 3pm. There is something unexplainable and fulfilling about being awake when everyone else sleeps, the echoing silence.
Neon lights flood my path, the quiet rumbling of traffic ensues, the city glimmers.
As the city lights glimmer a mosaic of stars scatter across the dark sky, rain hits the pavements whilst people take cover under umbrellas and soggy newspapers. The very skyline that once attracted me to this city now traps me. The clock strikes 3am, I sip the coffee glued firmly in my cold hands.
In the next few weeks I will be moving – away from my current status of hotel hopping and relying on a friends offer – to my own studio apartment. Which means one thing; a place to fill with inspiration.
Dark shadows creep across the walls as an echoing silence thunders loudly, the windows are open and the silk drapes are caught in a gentle breeze, the clouds are grey, rain drizzles down the window pane.
When the sun starts to rise I pull the covers above me, sleeping through the early hours of the day, I awake in the afternoon. Picking crumple d silk pants out of the small suitcase, I slip heels on, with a big hat and red lips I leave my new home for the night.
Finding myself at Starbucks, people pass me. In every country Starbucks is the same, my latest obsession their Iced Dolce Latte with espresso cream, people run to find cover.
The person I am now will soon be who I was, like the ticking seconds I pass myself by. Wanderlusting thoughts flood my mind.