Broken promises

It was dawning in the city, I was getting close, with a pocket full of wishful melodies, good melodies. Earlier in the night, they helped me shut that insistent little voice telling me beforehand that the sun does not always shine so bright.

So we meet again, I said to Vinovia, which greeted me gracefully this time around.
The beautiful landscapes never seemed so familiar and warm.

The winter, on the other hand, was clearly falling, bringing up the charming cold weather, colouring soft lights in the sense of style in the south metropolis.

I was fine in the outside.
Inside, my heart, in an uncontrolled act of perhaps following the season, was turning cold and distant. One of my very moments of self-reclusion and reflection. Never in a proper timing.

All the good fortune, dreams and good wishes. They were irrelevant for a moment.

In front of me, the concrete figure of a parallel life.

The diamond children were playing in their world made of glittering, crystal glass. A golden light that reflects so elegantly in the infant's beautiful eyes, eyes that might inspire love and tenderness, but yet are so full of vanity, so full of futility, so empty.

Or maybe it was me who was empty, with little, nothing to add to anything, anyone.

I am just a foolish bag of fragmentary memories, I thought, while struggling to accept that I had become vulnerable once again.

The bright lights around us were glowing with the Vinovian unique sense of chic. So antagonic to my own matrix.

Day was dawning again. As a sad clown, my face was just painted with happiness.

A numb feeling was squeezing my lungs while a strange eager was running through my body.

Among the eloquent silence and some precise hints, it was then confirmed.
Promises had been broken.

With my own devices, I tried waking up and going in for the battle.
I had to win Vinovia once again, and not let my happiness be delayed.

Late at night, I was walking alone on those desert streets, paying no mind to the evident danger of that silly attitude or even to the gelid breeze that apparently believed to be pleasant and insisted to blow right against my face.

Once so charming, the boulevards did not seem any appealing anymore. The city had apparently lost some of its colours.

A couple of friends, a couple of drinks and a couple of dance steps.
It was not properly Vinovia, I felt. Or it was just a different side to it.
The whole set did not differ from my routine in the slightest, which felt weird, unfulfilling, but well - the night was not lost.
I did enjoy the moment after all, in quite good company.

Nevertheless, the broken promises were echoing through my mind, as was the agony of being aware that I could forever be just a foreigner in the glimmering land of gold.

All my dreams, they might all be plain hopeless and I might never grow out my tiny little box.
Is papa to be blame blamed and mama to be hated?
I may never get to climb outside these walls.

Perhaps I should just settle down and accept the facts.

And no longer believe in breakable promises.


Good week, dear reader.