Isn't it just so odd how there are things about people that you just simply cannot remember? Like the teeth of that classmate who refuses to smile...to smile right... in any of her pictures. Or that particular route that you took that took your breath away. Sure, you're standing on the cobbles and your friend asks 'where's ----?' and all you can do is daftly (and oh so confidently, after a few moments of cleverly gathering up your scattered bearings, or so you think) point in the opposite direction, All you can do and then, is be led, almost dragging yourself away from the breathtaking sights, down fascinating streets. And that is when you remember why you have no recollection of the place! It's not the lack of familiar surroundings. Nay, the feeling of being 'home' is undeniable.
Reach out and touch the stone, run your fingers down the grey, old spines. There's a story for every crack and crevice, there's a little secret nestled in the eaves and you know that secret...if only you could remember it. The walls are whispering all the time and if you tuned out the sounds of the throbbing city, you'd hear all they have to say.
But! You were too busy gawking at the pilasters and the capitals and looking for other motifs like the polar bear on the Canada House (if the name is even the right one) or maybe looking to see if there were any diamonds accidentally caught in the leaves of the peepal trees. You missed the talking door frames and the ancient locks, you missed the wrought iron grilles and the feeling of erstwhile grandeur.
Maybe the gargoyles distracted me.
But i remember now, the feeling of the sunshine on my face and not a care in the world; besides that the day had to be over soon.
Maybe people had never noticed that places could be warm without referring to temperature. That stone could glow and that skylines would sing in hypnotic baritones. I could live in a tent on those streets; where buildings have names with ampersands and arcades flood with jewelled light. Is the light a sign of time trapped? It's still and i feel a sense of an era frozen in the grim lines of stone that sometimes flower in symmetric Gothic obedience and sometimes plummet in great, sheer heights.
Light and dark, this is where my heartlives sings soars!
Reach out and touch the stone, run your fingers down the grey, old spines. There's a story for every crack and crevice, there's a little secret nestled in the eaves and you know that secret...if only you could remember it. The walls are whispering all the time and if you tuned out the sounds of the throbbing city, you'd hear all they have to say.
But! You were too busy gawking at the pilasters and the capitals and looking for other motifs like the polar bear on the Canada House (if the name is even the right one) or maybe looking to see if there were any diamonds accidentally caught in the leaves of the peepal trees. You missed the talking door frames and the ancient locks, you missed the wrought iron grilles and the feeling of erstwhile grandeur.
Maybe the gargoyles distracted me.
But i remember now, the feeling of the sunshine on my face and not a care in the world; besides that the day had to be over soon.
Maybe people had never noticed that places could be warm without referring to temperature. That stone could glow and that skylines would sing in hypnotic baritones. I could live in a tent on those streets; where buildings have names with ampersands and arcades flood with jewelled light. Is the light a sign of time trapped? It's still and i feel a sense of an era frozen in the grim lines of stone that sometimes flower in symmetric Gothic obedience and sometimes plummet in great, sheer heights.
Light and dark, this is where my heart
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