Bratislava

Everything looked so small--

        all the buildings so miniscule and insignificant.

The city was a blended contradiction.

The beautiful architecture, hundred of years old, 

        so closely clashed with the countless, modern, lighted office buildings.

The Danube winded through the city,

        reminding me of the city's constant flux of change throughout history,

It lead to hills that weren't marred by artificial lights

        and a beautiful sunset backdropping a thread-like sliver of an orange moon.

The pinks turned to purple,

The light blues to royal.  

My arms grew numb

       and the wind began to whistle a bit louder.

Groups of tourists passed by, 

       and flashing cameras attempted to capture the utter beauty that sat before them.

But the shimmering water and the busy city continued on,

       unhindered and unaware of the many watchful, adoring eyes.

This was home.

It seemed too great a city to be such an unimportant thing.

The vastness of its past would seem untouched by my mere existence in it. 

But I didn't mind.

The stars were coming out,

       and they were the same stars that my old home would see in seven hours. 

This is just as much home as that was,

       because I am here.

I walk these streets.

I breathe this air.

My existence will be in its history,

       even if it does seem unnoticed.

This is my city.

This is my home.