Britishly drunken

My mind is confused.

Rooms I sleep and wake up.
Business and casual clothes.
Luggage and wardrobes.
Winter and summer clothes.
Winter and summer season.
Hate for my trip or my home?
Love for my trip or my home?
Time zones I live and think of.
Preference for acquaintances or friends?
Preference for new or old stories?
Still away or back?

I am in a mess.
Britishly drunken.
Still in between.
My transitions.
Philosophical.
Thus painful.

Britishly drunken.
Drunken trains, people, landscapes, light.
Relaxing, simple, outgoing, melancholic, long, sarcastic, polite and childish.
My heart drunken as well.

Music has just spread in my home.
I have just stopped hating being back.
I have just thanked Britain for the experience.
Besides, a new trip has been set as goal.

Free vs engaged

 Free!

The long light of British clouds

Precious homes

A hotel room becomes home when you bring your food inside.

Far more, when people around you smile.

And there is a swimming pool.

Returning home.

After a difficult day at work.

Wedge

I am not asked, I won't speak.

Sad but brave.

And free.

Our values need our tallness.

Even if we currently lose, the gain is bigger.

The mirror we say goodnight to.

Be prepared for everything.

For any gain, for any loss.

But above all, for that mirror.

Go people, do that.

You have my esteem.

And now I am released.

Goodnight world

The hotel I live in is like a motel.
Surrounded by vast parking areas, sleeping tracks, friendly trees, a moving highway and flat fields.
People come to have dinner and go.
Few stay here.

My soul is a motel.
I come and go.
I don't stay here.
For long.

I feel alive.

Empty fields

Feel lonely.
That deep loneliness that reaches your soul.
It is then that you remember who you.
Relieved that you exist.
Though that burning sense on the stomach.
The high cost of living.
Eternally observing.
Distant.
Reaching freedom through a sweet misery of loss.
Life needs you awaken, even sleepless.

The British landscape invades into my heart.
Which lusts for space.
Being friend with my emptiness in these empty fields.
The places I visit reflect on me.
As if I extend and become part of them.
To whom I belong?
To places.

To nothing.

Hallelujah