I found a teardrop on my pillow this morning.
As I watched it disappear into the cotton, flickers of my dream swirled within its crystal prison.
And another teardrop fell, as I grasped,desperately, at the memory of the city I saw in my dreams, the city I might never see again.
The roads were broad and straight. People all around me, laughing, speaking a thousand and one languages.
The waters lapped gently against the bank.
He was still there. Playing his guitar, perhaps for the lovers who stopped to listen. Perhaps for the lonesome, who lingered, and looked down into the dark waters at his own, solitary reflection. The man whose music filled the bridge and overflowed into the canal beneath.
And suddenly I was back on the Anichkov. Looking up at the horse, I remember it all so clearly now, the wisp of warm air dissipating into the air as we laughed, the four of us, searching for the face we never saw.
Even as mundane morning routines took over, I can still hear that lonely melody floating in that space between memories and reality.
As I watched it disappear into the cotton, flickers of my dream swirled within its crystal prison.
And another teardrop fell, as I grasped,desperately, at the memory of the city I saw in my dreams, the city I might never see again.
The roads were broad and straight. People all around me, laughing, speaking a thousand and one languages.
The waters lapped gently against the bank.
He was still there. Playing his guitar, perhaps for the lovers who stopped to listen. Perhaps for the lonesome, who lingered, and looked down into the dark waters at his own, solitary reflection. The man whose music filled the bridge and overflowed into the canal beneath.
And suddenly I was back on the Anichkov. Looking up at the horse, I remember it all so clearly now, the wisp of warm air dissipating into the air as we laughed, the four of us, searching for the face we never saw.
Even as mundane morning routines took over, I can still hear that lonely melody floating in that space between memories and reality.
2 comments:
Good to hear from you Angel, wondered how you were getting on post your studies... miss the stories of your russian days xx
Thank you! I'll be blogging more often from now, i hope.
Life after St Petersburg is hard to get used to, but I'm looking forward to a new page !
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