Story about Sarajevo. Love letter to an unknown city
It is not the first time I fall in love with a city and I am sure it will not be the last. But It's the first time I've fallen in love from a distance, without having stepped on you, without having smelled or looked at you. And my scars already hurt.
I'm getting clearer that we are geographical coincidences, DNAs made of meridians and parallels, crossed stories, a blind lottery ticket. And sometimes unfair. But this has already happened. Has it happened yet?
What will it be like to be sitting on one of your terraces with a Turkish coffee in your hand, aborek in the belly and a tangle of thoughts in the head? And in the heart. With my eyes will I reach the minarets of the mosques or will I stare at the thousands of white crosses of your hills? Will I think of the stories drowned under your sky, those that never had the opportunity to be written? Or in stories written in blood, those that should never have existed?
Sarajevo with S Of silence, of suffering, of blood. But also of dreams. Also of survivor.
I imagine you with cold white skin, like the snow that covers you in winter, I imagine you sad, melancholy, quiet and reserved, like what many saw and suffered the most. I swear I will respect your silences and learn to listen to them. I swear I'm just looking to find you.
Our date is dated: September 15, until then I will not stop thinking about you. Ours is a specific contract with a start and end date. But there are beginnings that begin long before the great day and ends that extend to eternity. Will ours be like this?
Photo credit: icoreglobal
