Living in a city that always sleeps

Just yesterday I realised how limited edition my city is. I had finished having my coffee by 5ish o' clock, but I had no purpose of going back home. So, I decided it would be a good idea to go to the movies with a friend. BUT. The films wouldn't start till 6 or 7. And pop went my heart. We sat for a couple of ten minutes on a bench, smoking- doing nothing much really. My friend had to leave at seven and I was passing my time keeping her company. After some time I thought it could be pretty if we could go see the Toulouse Lautrec exhibition. There came the grand apprehension of the fact that the museum was closed.

So, there you have it. I live in a place that offers you nothing. The only thing that you can do without having it organised beforehand is have a cup of coffee, tea, a juice, a coke...and in that sense its a city of infinite options. When it comes to the creative side, the place is abysmal misery. And that is sad. Maybe the whole place is a big coffee shop, but it certainly is nothing of my taste. The aesthetic of the thing is tacky, really. It's as if the only thing you are expected to do when you leave your house is to go for coffee or for drinks and dancing. The question is how long can this sort of entertainment keep your batteries charged and your soul alert?

Put Me In Your Pocket

"I feel so small, put me in your pocket". Quotes G. Kelly in High Society. In this combination of words one can see the strong crave to love and moreover, to be loved. Pretty much we've all been in this place, where all you want to do is speak out a confession of overwhelming emotions. But, most of the times we tend to supress our urge to "confess" and this is the point when you profoundly suffocate. This secret-love then turns into a delicate monster(poetic allusion). It's as if you're not righted to love and you restrict yourself to a devastating emotional imprisonment. You try to be around and at the same time not to seem hopelessly attached, expecting every time that something miraculous will happen. Sadly, it never does. It can get miserable, but in a mysterious way it becomes addictive. This emotionally exhaustive experience of unfulfilled, mazed-like love creates the need to give away your burnt down soul; to him, on a piece of paper, on a blog.