There’s no echo on the streets

The street misses it [the echo] as the early Sunday morning misses some coffee. Barely awake… and sounds are disturbing your sleepy thoughts.

It’s night, 21:28 to be exact and as I walk on the street, I see the colors of it as something new. I am a musician and the street is my instrument. The lights are my analog film and my eyes are my camera. You stair at me from the shop windows. I’ve become you and what I see is not me.

08:24. In the bakery >>  wondering why I speak as if I am being gutted – I like it, it makes me feel vulnerable to my own emotions. And they take over as I buy a croissant for 0.89€ and put it in my bag only to take it out 9 hrs later and to remember the slightest detail of the approach I had to this Sunday morning. I am full of attempts to start a day normally when it is clear that this is one of those days in which you prove you have an end to your wall so your emotions stop climbing up and just collapse on you. All of them. Also the croissant, the film, the city, all those sofas, bars and most importantly the flirt. The craving for a croissant…

18:19. This is it, the end. They got to me. My own emotions are trying to undress me naked in front of all those people I don’t know. They are against me, torture me in this sunny afternoon of a post-impressionable early early morning. I don’t have time.

Time is motionless. Still thinking of the street lights. They catch my attention as if I am a big fat fly with many eyes and time to fly around anonymous places I’ve visited and to try and get back some feelings which got lost on the way…
And I hear no music. No echo. Time doesn’t stop but the echo does, because you are continuously dragging yourself through the street and enjoy the fact that every step makes you feel some slowly unbearable pain in your body. Exhausted and emotional. Here is my door. Here I will be saved from the outside.