Cobbled

The forecast called for rain, and again it did not come. I stumbled awkwardly over narrow cobblestone alleys in the Old Town, navigating to a door and a key in hiding. A friend away on travels, I land for but a few nights under his low ceilings, perpetually moving to stay a step ahead. The dark sandstorms nip at my heels, my head aches and my body starves. The money runs out, so quickly it runs, but the weekend is unrelenting, depositing me at a hundred sunsets, a hundred drinks, with more lovely faces than I knew I had in this city. I cannot say no, I revel in every moment.

There is too much to contemplate, too much to digest. In the West lies an entire city and carries on without me; my heart burns longing for it but my eyes stay shut to its memories. Stockholm tempts me with its glittering waters, its late-night whispers of adventure on the horizon. The faster I run, the longer I keep this giggle in my heart.

It's just tonight I'm so weary. In a borrowed bed, in the ancient house, I sleep long before the sun sets.