New People, New Journey

My Journey through Rio de Janeiro.

The strangest things come from where I least imagine, as the cropped photos and the christmas films I relate to them, but not in a personal manner, they are unique, single, yet as couples holding hands as the sun sets.

Square roots of three, you don’t know them, don’t want to or hope, passing through as leaves in the wind, as the morning newspaper that I forget to read and sits in the bedside still in its plastic.

Of course I met the sea man, he was full of stories of shark hunting and of the tourists he talks with every day.

The transient lives, enhancing the feeling of strange origins, going in a new and better phase;

You don’t get to choose who you see for they’re all there, half naked, bare even of their shoes;

Yet not open to broad relationships, because it all ends in two or three days, as the week starts and they leave, not to see those faces ever again, before they die.

I had a conversation with a middle aged woman, she was rich and happy, though the latter I’m not certain of. She had many pains in her life and overcame them, something I can’t relate to;

It’s all a fog, but the story she told sticked with me, as the pleasant windy evening becomes predominant above, I see her ponytail shake as she makes conversation.

An even older woman smokes her mint cigarette, she looks half her age, and she is also great at talking;

I make friends I meet them in precarious ways that makes me think I’d rather live life than know it;

It’s as though all enriching things come from inside and of experience. I must not know anyone after leaving, for all I grasped was a glimpse into the heart.