A dream that became a start to write

A dream in so many ways in so may forms, though is just one I plot down…

Looking out of my window I see the Moscow street lights, some people running around in the white carpet the night has rolled out. The designs and motives being added by the people walking over it, creating lines creating paths, crating so little and so much, it makes me dream away, as I look at this white carpet and the white feathers that keep falling from the sky.

It is amazing what goes through your mind at times like this, absolutely nothing and still so much but nothing ways on you, it is just the snowfeathers, the sounds and a bit of peace. Be it brief be it an hour it just made my day, and the day had hardly started.

The red digits in the room showed the time being little after 5 in the morning, and as usual I could not sleep, the 3 hour time difference stirred with the excitement of Moscow just makes it a waste to go asleep here. I turn around and look into my room, the golden armchair with bright red velvet like fabric, the curtain in the middle of the room, the high ceiling , al makes it my favorite place, I feel like a character in one of Lermontov’s unwritten novels. I feel a French talking aristocrat, with a military uniform, be it with a mac as a gun and a montblanc as my sword.

The hotel national, be it an old hotel, with some old hotel bar and not the most fancy design it just makes me feel welcome, makes me dream and I love it, it brings a smile to me when I walk into the place It has some magic to it. And will always have this magic like a lost summer love that you remember occasionaly and always wonder about, when she crosses your mind. Although none of these still wonder through my head. As I’m looking at the bed I see the sheets like a topographic map, colours and shadows interweaven over and down a body, a gracious woman, a friend a lover, or maybe nothing, all I know is the smile that comes to my face when looking at her face, peacefully, contempt and sleeping with the tiniest smile.

I close the curtains in the middle of the room, ever so gentle and slowly, my eyes scattering the last bit of light on your face as it disappears in the shadow, behind the curtain. Turning toward the window to open it, just to feel the touch of my favorite mistress, my Moscow My love, as the window opens I feel the geltle cold breeze stroking my hair my face, waking me up even more, dropping some of the feathers in my room and on my face, as exoctic kisses. Once the cold runs a shiver over my back, I close the window, and decide to go to the lobby and smoke a cigarette.

But before I go, I left a small part of me next to my sleeping beauty;

You might be yellow

You Might Be White

You might discover violet

And go for green

You might awaken to silence

an empty bed

one colour is not enough

as you make me

every day

all night

into the rainbow

I am

I drew a little smoking face next to it just she would know that no one had left.

I placed the paper on top of her iPhone as that is the only place I knew she would look at first.

I closed the door behind me, gently. I stood still for a second to look at the door, the corridor, the thick carpet, the blond lady walking out of a room not far from me. She looks at me for a second, her eyes cross mine, and I’m surprised by how empty they look. She walks away.

Deciced not to take the lift, I walk to to large stairs at the front of the building, wide covered with a thick carpet, guiding you down and making you feel like Vronsky. The darkness is still outside hugging Moscow, with it’s white duvet, and Moscow keeps cuddling deeper and deeper under it. I descend past floors past the solitude as I feel all by myself, only some staff around, the city that doesn’t sleep has not woken up here yet.

My feet touch the white marble in the lobby, I look up to see the glass roof covered under snow, snow that is melting away slowly by the heat of the bar. I sit down at a table overlooking the bar, the television, and the back elevator. I like being able to see that one, as I think that I get asked by elena (her name tag telling me she is called elena) if I would like something, I ask for a fresh orange juice and a cappuccino without cinnamon. As they like to put it on everything here.

The cigarette is lit, a nast habbit, that gives me a strange feeling of joy, a moment to reflect. Looking around at the empty bar, I observe the staff, they look overly active for this time of the day, and smile at you whenever they look at you, a true definition of what the hospitality staff should do…

I get my Orange juice and I just dream away, put my cigarette out in a clumpsy way, and get ash alover the table, a bummer. I decide to lit a second as I see the mess I made. I take my iphone to play around with a bit, go to facebook , try to write a post that will be liked or get some comments, this by taking a silly picture or sharing a funny article. Read some lines of Eugene onegin, and realize I read the same over and over again.

Some activity at the elevator, a young women walks out, her eyes down worth just walking out, the two girls at the bar don’t take any notice of her. A young men walks in, with young I mean a 34 year old like me, as I’m getting older every day, I keep denying I’m getting older as I am young for always, and nobody is allowed to say differently.

My thoughts go their own way, time to write a poem in the iphone notes;

Hidden

Hidden behind a hat of blond hair

Eyes down

Just the marble

Cold and gracious

But walked on

Walked on by all

Just pretty

But no more

Though strong

Unique

And never known

Just hidden

From her

From the world

Or just

Just a persons choice

I will never know

As always the writing didn’t take longer then 30 seconds, it was just a way to write some thoughts down.

The orange shirt, drew my attention, the color vivid and warm, linked to blue, linked to yellow and all in a moment, a moment sometimes brief, sometimes long, but always ever lasting.

Everlasting in a word, in a rainbow, never to fade as pink and blue, as a bracelet on an arm, in a picture as bits of lace, hidden and shown, as in a coffee in the morning, as in green and orange, after a walk, in a big city be it cold or at the virge of summer, be it now be it yesterday, always here. Never to fade.

To fight or not to fight, to upset or not to upset, all is close. All is near just like the first December day I ever set foot here, saw the Bolshoi went to the skybar, and felt the magic, when walking 40 floors high, a hidden touch, overlooking the Russian capital, with all it’s sparkling lights, it just all happens, and keeps happening, as the first time you read bulgakov, find the yellow flowers and learn more about all these things, feel the things rather then know, experience, rings and buzzes all happening, now and today.

More and more I discover, more to explore more to share more to live, more that is missed and more that is gained, no idea what is all going through my head, why I write what I write, no idea why I’m in love with people as Vronsky, Alexander and Lermontov’s Captain. It just is the way it is.

Loving at home ,loving away, loving children, it is all parts of my life, and I Live it, a dream of working with what I want with who I want. But one light is brighter more vibrant then all, it shed light, it warms me it is there whenever. It is shedding a yellow light, with royal blue and heavenly orange, creating fuchsia creating the big part of my rainbow. Keeping it up in rain as it is the light that creates it, the colors it brings, it is the sun in a Blue sky, it is what I realized.

I’m brought back, by the sound of heels on the marble, creating a melody, slowly my eyes listen to this, trying to find , trying to hear, but they stop at the sound, the sound of piano music. My eyes close, as my ears now see, see the art of this devine piece, see the the music, bring it to me, inside me. I lit another cigarette.

And dream away, awy to a place deep inside me, dream about a satin silk skin, about hours of senses that are triggered slow and fast, about square millimeters opening a heaven so big, about connecting without NFC and RFID, no receptors and with a reach larger then any campaign, just a connection taking you to a different universe.

Feeling these lips as they where on mine now, feeling the skin roll under my fingertips, seeing the white satin path, feel a shiver when touching, connecting, feel the path being layed out over and over again, discovering a world, not know to any sense, to any neuron, feeling like a xmas morning, as the smell of the first rain in the summer, as the moment you look in eyes and see a sparkle, feel your breathing getting heavier, your hart skipping a beat. Feeling, a body move feeling lips being bitten, feeling eyes kissing the sky, feeling a curl, feeling the tremble.

Feeling closer to heaven.