em branco e preto

heart beats scattered across russia. things insane in a blaze fast of summer cold and white nights. train from st. petersburg that swings with underground wind currents to moscow that sinks in its sundry gloom in perfect recall of sao paulo. dirt and chaos covered roads and packed food markets, busy lives, signals, queues, anger and stress.

this is the farthest away i have ever been from home and the closest foreign match to the city of my heart. this is the seat of the kremlin and halls underground bedecked with chandeliers. the sun is to never set in a town like this.

this is the farthest away from home i have ever been. at least the farthest from any idea of home i've ever had. and aljona in her hot pink coat took me to the shore of the baltic sea. she pointed the lights in the distance and said that was finland.

there is something strangely dazzling about slowly crossing the hard packed sand of a beach far away and looking off not to imagine but to see yet another distant land shimmering on the horizon.

and we had ukrainian soup for dinner overlooking the brightest sky there was to see in this first of few white nights this time around.

and rain hasn't left me for a moment in berlin. my wordless days have taught me tricks about solitude and pain. music can stall and disguise most ugly sentiments. today was another lost wandering, searching i don't know where for i don't know what. from the cafe windows i see the showered pavement shining under the neon and ridden with the roar of bicycles and trams on glistening tracks. to give me peace of my mind is the plane ticket to tallinn at home.