18/April/2017
9.21 AM

 

You woke up from your sleep at 7 in the morning today. You wiped whatever stained your eyes with your bare hands. The ticking clock sounded like a countdown to an atomic bomb, and you blamed whatever it is that you drank last night.

You are suddenly reminded to a girl that you met in a lift two weeks ago. She was lost in her own existence, trying to mute her surroundings with a heavy metal music that you could faintly hear even if you’re standing a meter from her. Her left hand was holding a postcard with a picture of a city in Europe, specifically Paris. You tried to hold yourself from tapping her shoulder and tell her that you’ve been in that overly romanticized city before and it wasn’t that remarkable. But the idea of a girl who’s probably in her twenties finding her own path in pictures of European cities tickled your mind.

It brought you back to that time in December, when you left your home, looking for freedom. You picked wild flowers on the streets of Paris, wishing they would keep you safe. But you kept on walking and walking. Hiding under urban decays. You let the flowers die in your pocket. You found a place to sleep at night, and for the coming years.

The walls felt colder that morning, and you rushed to make a cup of black coffee. As bitter and as dark as your heart. You questioned your choices, you decided not to regret anything that happened the day before. You tried to hold your breath, but you didn’t die. You silently whispered to yourself that you will make it out alive. You reassured yourself once again that everything will be fine in this city of thieves and liars. You compiled pieces of photograph and arrange them on your kitchen table. Watching your life slowly fading before your eyes like a broken movie theatre.

And now you’re searching for her, the girl with the stack of postcards. You muttered to yourself “where the fuck are you?” without even knowing her name or the colour of her eyes. The only thing that you remember was the floor that she was heading to. Thirteen. Fitting for an angsty teen.  You suddenly wanted to learn about life from your three second assumptions.

You ran to the train, you told the gatekeeper to take you anywhere. He gave you the cheapest ticket. One hour ride. No more place to hide. No more fake smile. No more mediocre answer to people’s insincere ‘how are you?’ questions.

Who are you?
Where are you?
What do you want?
Are you lost in this city of thieves and liars?

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