I’ve changed cities more times than the number of days in a year.
Soon I lost my liking for constancy and homeliness. I painted the walls of my house a different colour each time; something to remember that city by.
I misplaced fragments of my memory, and more often than not I started remembering people, not by their names but by their scent of their presence.
Every place looks the same but feels differently than before, every language like a first kiss.
It’s been too long for me to tell one city from another- I fly across the world without borders. I wake up to the same shadows of the day, clinging over one another. A roadside café, a tower, and a man, I have written and forgotten about.
But sometimes when you’re all alone in this new city, remember, that wherever you go, love from different corners of the world follows your footsteps.