Here we are, dressed in bright colours, fully prepared to take all of the Brighton in. We are the ones who like to feel. We go around. We smell the air, while becoming the people of very few words. Grasping and bathing in the horizon as the prisoners, just released. We are the sea kids. We absorb its molecules and its essence as naturally as an element of such can be. We fill the mammoth portions of ocean’s smell into our tiny lungs and promise to keep it, but unsuccessfully, as the concrete madness of the city, later reveals.
It breaks. But before that, we continue to walk. To get lost between the streets and voices of the new people we meet. Smiles that we exchanged got loose in the tiniest unknown corners. Music that we heard melted into the skins and then the beach…. Again. As if it would be the last time we meet, we continue to stare. Reducing the blinks of an eye and with a rapid heartbeat our hearts are whispering goodbyes, while our lips state the defeat.
One day, we will cross the ocean.
For a minute i started to doze off into my personal universe . I was imagining taking night walks with my ‘possible-future-darling’. Both of us sitting on the alienated bench with a cup of warm coffee, having a small talk while gazing at the setting down sun … As soon as these thoughts were getting into the swing of development, I have to admit, I was feeling a bit disgusted with myself. This romantic-like consciousness was always shoved somewhere in the deepest tunnels of my noddle, for not event myself to reach. Well, apparently, light braked through. I think Scandinavia’s heart is at fault, it has romanticism particulars is in the air, I bet.