Rare days

It was a lovely day. With an occasional exchange of dialogue and mostly long silent rides. Visiting the city once in a while is like visiting a past that keeps haunting me. Its familiar heavy traffic and grime constantly remind me of things I already know. Of things I should expect, of things that are never welcome.

Always peppered with lovely jokes and lovely silences. Always sprinkled with delicious food shared in luscious emotions and spoonfuls of passion.

The city. It always has to happen in the city. As if the countryside has no place for such things. The countryside is preoccupied with its local simplicity. It is obsessed with keeping its hushed lives and secrets. The city is where Things happen. But do they really matter? Little things are always happening and it is often more grandiose to choose the mundane, to prefer the humdrum over the bustle.


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