Missing Good Weather

This city continues to be a whirlwind of vibrancy.

My thoughts are drenched with its very exsistence.

So, rightfully, my deptarture shall be grand.

May I stretch my legs and dance along the chiseled rooftops.

Let the streets be filled with my song.

I shall explode like a million bursting stars,

into the costellation of what it means to be alive.

Let their eyes sparkle like lights of a Christmas tree,

illuminating the murky skies with their joy.

Being dragged away,

the depth of the city already pentrated the fibers of my skin.

My soul, vast and ambiguous,

rests nestled between the protruding structures of Sevilla.

Shall I ever be blessed with your blue skies again?

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