Blue City

I hated this city with every fiber of my being. It was bleak, damp, slippery, as if soaked in sour moisture. Yet, despite this, it managed to hold me for more than ten years — in exchange for the coveted passport.

Only after leaving (with the passport, of course), did I begin to see it differently. The ponds and the sky started to play blue notes, and the streetlights reminded me of past adventures: kisses by those very ponds, tears, runs, dreams stumbling over broken shoulders and ankles.

The flowers, bushes, and trees breathe, moving in harmony with the wind, dying and being born again.

No, I don’t want to return. But I can still see parts of me sliding through that space.