Η Αθήνα της/ Her Athens

Of course! It depends on the weather and the phase we pass. Each of us, has his own unique way to deal with his problems. I tried many ways but none of them hasn’t suited me. Like this, tired of my feelings I thought to stop worrying and trying  to dissociate myself from the worries. In my world, I love to stay alone every so often.

My feet walked in the familiar paths of the city. In my hands I was holding an art magazine- you know one of these daily free press. The music was playing in the replay “Carte Postale” and I was listening the lyrics” old my hand and we can walk away, looking into your eyes so I can see you pray…” and Iet them to con me in a fantastic land. A few minutes later, I sat in a cafe balcony. Someone had told me that he was imaging me to wake up early in the morning and drinking my coffee in a house like this, watching the view and then to read a book like now.

I was looking the photographs on the walls and I understood that nothing has changed since the time when the house dwelled by a wealthy family. He was a judge, she was a rich man’s daughter. A few lines further down in their life’s book, their charities and their big acts, without evasive the fuss about their relationship and the difficult times when she refused to leave Athens to follow him when he shipped to a new town.

About their love not a word. Neither in the pictures-neither in the book. Maybe it was so big that it lived only in the house or so small that none of them feel it. Maybe, they lived separated and none of them found the courage to say it. They threw away their thoughts in a drawer full of dampness and dust with a shopworn letter and act like they were sleeping quietly and hopefully to be lovers. The girl, four years later from her misery, she closed her eyes with a leaning head, looking towards the window and the big hill. But it wasn’t Acropolis.

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