The city looks like someone practiced their watercolor painting skills on it every time it rains. The season's approaching that dreadful bit when every morning's cold and every evening is coloured in by the awfully yellow streetlights that shine on the wet streets and actually make you a bit nauseous.
I chopped my long hair off on Friday evening. No more summer-in-the-Hamptons-ponytails for me, but I'll be fine, alright.
I don't know if it's my new platinum blonde hair's fault, but I feel inspired by everything and anything, no traces of feeling blue here anymore. Why think about that when all the golden land's ahead of you and all kinds of unforeseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see? Kerouac puts it like it is, again.
And while I struggle to find the feeling you get when you're traveling - that anything could happen soon, the simple things make me happier than I ever thought.
Sunny Sundays, running, phone calls, grocery shopping in the market hall in Hakaniemi, pink lipstick, an obnoxious and ruthless and fun conversation across the kilometers to Berlin in the middle of the night, birthdays and parties and a roadtrip to Turku in a couple of weeks' time. Oh, and awful evenings in the worst aussie bar in the world.
I know the next dark rainy evening will get me down and blue again, but I won't let it bruise me bad this time.
No comments:
Post a Comment