Sunday, 19 February 2012

top of the city

The city was calling.
I had to be there, for the tides had gotten colder, for the ocean was breaking furiously, for my vision was blurry.

Speeding up as much as the safety levels would – not without some opposition – allow, we arrived there just in time. Just in time.

It took much less than before.
That platinum skyline that once would always get me in state of awe and amazement seemed cold and just merely banal – still, very scary.
The passing of the imposing pillars may have lost much of its older appeal.

My colleague, whose hands received my fortune, was attentive and mild, but did not provide us with much hopeful words – well, in all honesty, I myself was not sure of what I expected.

At least it now had a label.

We are sorry to inform you, sir, that the guest hosted in your room did not check-out and left the hotel with the room keys, and in top of that we are full, so we have sadly been forced to redirect your reservation to another hotel, a classic-styled inn with a vintage setting that your fine taste will surely appreciate, said the hotel attendant, just before answering the phone and telling the exact same story to another guest.
Sunny afternoons become unbearably hot when major elements go out of plans.

Placed at the end of a leg of the old-town viaduct, the hotel we had been sent to was, indeed, classic-styled. If thus should be called such a dirty, smelly dump.
Well, we have got a fridge and hot water. Everything is old indeed, but functional, she said.
Honestly, I feel back to the 70s, or like trapped in an picture.
Fair enough.

As the sunset embraced the city, the heat of the night emerged and with it my need to reinvent my glamour.
For the crawling itch showed its power.

Lost directions, smiling amigos, unknown friends.

The night had started and I knocked the next door.
Inside of it, I found nothing that I was not quite expecting. The same lights, the same songs, the same feeling that I had gotten somewhere near home.

The city had just unveiled itself.

Vinovia, so we meet again.

And so I danced.
For the faces were so alike.
For the companies vapored away.
For my words were mercilessly erased.
I danced. Just danced to the blues.

There is no love in Vinovia. No care. No sympathy.
Just empty faces dancing and crushing along.

The glimmering, attractive and enjoyable hall of loneliness.

A numb happiness persisted until I reached that tight corridor.
In there, another collision took place, when hands did not let go of each other.

If you should fall into my arms and tremble like a flower.
And so has one done.

We swayed into the crowd and became the only dancers of that empty dancefloor.
All troubles swept away.
All the lights flashing to our heart beats.

As we laid on that – providential – couch, I sang. Take me up to the top of the city, and put me up on the angel's shoulder.

Mutual smiles and caresses.

We ran through the empty streets of late-night Vinovia.
Moving up the viaduct, amidst the dense set of deco buildings, broken by a charming church of simpler lines, we were heading to the heights.

Why do you live there, not here?
Because I need to spend the next 3 1/2 weeks losing concentration and sleep, whining about how perfectly you would fit my innermost ideals of an inched-detailed draft of a lover and what a perfect scenario this would be were I not from where I am.

One more step to the point of the city, I thought, where just a couple of pigeons are living.

And then we finally reached it.
The highest point of the city, where the entire Vinovia could be seen on its full glory.
A breathtaking skyline to be slowly appreciated.
The tall buildings, the skyscrapers in the distance, the towers planted in the hills on the horizon, the largest avenues.
Movement, the non-stopping activity of a proper metropolis.
And, finally, the sun slowly rising up, gently colouring the east with soft scarlet tones, soon to be replaced by intense blue. A new day, welcomed by us, warmed up by a heart-felt embrace.
In my heart, we were one.

The soft wind blowing up there was rather nippy, though, so we had to climb down and, eventually, move on our own ways.
Back into the dirty piece of dump I was given to call my "room", the glamour stripped itself away.

The sun was up mid-sky. Noon, it was.

It was time to leave Vinovia.
How much hard I would try, however, the city would apparently not allow me finding the way out.
Streets would abruptly change directions, avenues would lean towards the city core, skyscrappers would stir aside so as to block the view of direction signs, and palm trees would distract us from understanding the mazy ways of the complex urbanization plan.
Under the back-story of "having fun" trying and get ourselves out, my nerves were getting a bit tangled up, feeling somewhat pressed and irrevocably choked by the hands of the city.

Eventually, the exit was found.

Vinovia, in the distance, accepted the farewell, which apparently will last only for so long.
I still love and hate you equally, as always, city.
Glamour and the best of memories, all left on its warm bosom.

And in the distance, the top of the city was indistinct.