Lisbon, It's a small city.
Walking through the street, you see nothing but bliss. It’s an odd dilemma, you see the city itself, half in ruin, is nothing spectacular. But as you walk down the main streets, it presents itself lively. People with smiles, and good fortunes. In their lifestyle, they portray simple-ness, but underneath? I do not know. I have not been here long enough you see.
What I do know, is that I like this city. The beach, a quick 30 minutes walk from my place of living: a hotel on the upper side of town. The crowds amass for this weekends festivities: The Champions League. They portray their sympathy for the one team, and their joy and support for the other. You see, tomorrow will be a task too large for the former. Yet as the underdogs, how can this Portuguese town not empathise. Of the coast, you see water. It shines bright as the sun hits its decks, and I look up to find, several groups starring out. What do they think of- I ask myself? What spawns from their very brains as they seek out, something, if anything, that too I do not know.
I sit at a café, along the square, the waiter so kind, I quickly order what I came for. An omelette: breakfast; even though its just hit quarter past 4. I rose late today- I say that as if I ever rise early. Feeling like a queen, I spread my legs across the white pillow tops and the blanket underneath. I know I have some working to do, yet it doesn’t seem to come as a priority, for today at least. I seem to have but one mission: To enjoy the surroundings. I rose quickly, found my water half empty. Room service – too much? I thought so, instead I hit the water; I let it run. Soon I will take a bath, and avoid some more sun (those were my thoughts). For to enjoy the sun, would be to enjoy procrastination. And that I believed, was a step too far.
As I get clothed, I think to myself: who today should I represent, me, myself, or another? You see, I could dress as a queen, or as a pawn. Either way, no one yet knows who I am. Thereby opportunities arise, but I take none. Instead, the usual: all black, it must be. Sunglasses sway from the top of my t-shirt. They’re brown, but style is not the reason. Instead I hope they will shelter their eyes, not from the sun but from other people. I like to shy from the attention, but when in fact I shouldn’t. I like the attention, but only when there is no need for it. What does that say about me, and my style? That too, I’m not too certain.
As I walk back from my adventures around the city, I think of my parents arriving. Of their dismay with my smoking. So I smoke two more cigarettes, back to back, hoping to quench the thirst for them. It does not do so, however, as it has, before. Instead, as another usual, I can not satisfy my temptation, my longing for extravagance and outpouring of sincere situations. By which, I so long to smoke with, as if it were a prop, to the greatest of scripts. Everything seems to be a set. I play out my part, with no hope or regret. Simply to be, something of something; rather than, nothing of nothing. I arrive at the footsteps of my hotel. Covered in crowds, I propel myself forward, show my ticket in: my room key. I wish they were for me, but I know that’s silly. Instead they await the team, which one, I’m not sure, but I hope it’s the latter; but that’s just my own personal choice.
I stumble into the elevator, half possessed by thoughts of returning home: what shall I do then? Yet the weekend has just begun- why can I not focus on that? The mind is a peculiar thing- but we have no time to discuss such matters. Instead let me continue on with my Lisbon adventures.
I walk towards my door, open it slyly, pretending to be an agent or spy, anything really. I wish I was James Bond, or a female version. Instead I’m just a lucky kid, well done by my parents’ hard-worked fortune. I open the door, one step at a time. Now fully cleaned, I prance inside. A mess must be made, how else can I claim, some sort of ownership upon these carpets? While I do not own it, nor have I paid for it, I get undressed and wear the bathrobe as if it were mine. I sit, now leaning forward pretentiously, pretending to be an author, a writer, something of the kind. And so I’ve reached my conclusion: Lisbon, a fare city with the fairest of people, so kind, so ordinary: it’s beautiful. Yet I have not seen enough, instead I linger as if I run. Run as if I’ve had a wholehearted experience. But this is of course not the truth- for I am no local, nor shall I ever be. Thereby I conclude, my thoughts are infinite, never truly concluding. But that’s okay, I never really did like endings. Instead, I toast myself to sleep, for more happy beginnings; perhaps tomorrow, I can reach another ending.