12 octombrie 2015

In heights

It's been a long time since I've blogged during my travels.
Barcelona was too cheerful and my Viennas a bit too ordinary.
However, waiting for my Bucharest flight in my second home played a weird memory game on me. Coming from Zagreb,  I suddenly feel like 3 years ago, when traveling used to restore parts of me that were long gone and also feelings that grow new melt into feelings that grow old and all this mix becomes too much, to beautiful and too familiar all over again.
The silent slide of the people arround me and the subtle humming of their voices tell a story of regaining freedom and also a story of getting back into the golden cage that is one's mind.
Real life becomes an abstract concept and all one's duties become sarcastic rituals of fading and forgetting.
This whole phantomatic crowd finally releases the need for loneliness well hidden inside the smiles , laughter,  attention and the empathy that gently takes over the interior while being away from the problematic self.
Colors pop out. Sounds pop out. Questions pop out.
The flight announcements form textures and the physique is divided between thirst and patience.
Coming home is tough, but there's no desire to remain in limbo.
And the answer pops out aswell, raw, cheesy and unexpected : it doesn't matter I'm not at all a creative person as long as I can feel it as intense as anything else.