I always thought I wasn't much of a talker, didn't think I had the trait to just go on talking about usual everyday things with some sort of a panache, as if it was a Dan Brown thriller I was living. But the past 4 months have changed a lot of things, and this is another surprising discovery I made about me.
So the scene goes something like this. The sun goes down at 4, as if figuring out finally that its hated these days or realizing that there are people here who make this place brighter than the sun ever could. There's a harsh cold wind that doesn't make you feel cold at all, on the contrary, its the coziest feeling you ever had. Then there's the first drop of summer rain, right on your forehead, as if telling you that you're the only reason it made the effort to come down. Add to that the freedom you feel only when you're jumping across the skies in your dreams, a large cup of hot caramel coffee and some amazing company and there you have it, the perfect moment (Who said mere humans couldn't fly?). And then you talk, not because what you're saying matters, but because it doesn't. Because talking feels like the only way to reassure yourself that someone is there, and will be, whenever you want to talk. Then you don't really feel time passing by, or that you're living in a city full of people. It's just you, and that's that.
Five hours of such indulgence can leave anybody asking for more. I am not asking for more, I am begging for it...