Well, your kisses they burn, but my heart stays cool...
All the Portuguese have left for their August ferias, the metro is empty, the streets are barren, the beaches are full of pale tourists speaking all too familiar languages. It's not the Lisbon that I love. I long for the familiar sing-song portuguese of my friends, with their cut off words and added -inhos.
I have turned into the expert. I am the one who can point the right direction to train stations, beaches and restaurants. Not just with my family, but with the Italians, the English, the Germans and of course the Americans. But I don't like it. It's too different. Still the city I love, but without the people it's merely buildings and structures.
In other news...
Paris made me feel fat and they made me doubt my legs. No one does that, I would be okay not going back.
We nearly lost my mother to a small isolated country-town in Spain after she got on the wrong train. But we can't talk about it
I met a fat smoking spiderman in Madrid. I liked him a lot, but I still told him he had let himself go.
I snuck into my apartment to retrieve my things I left without seeing Hugo. Turns out he's been in a depressed stupor and doesn't come home now that I'm gone.
My song lyrics that start my posts tend to be spreading in popularity
We can't get a train out of Lisbon to Malaga. I'm okay with that
My version of a long walk is six metro stops. My parents' is three. We've spent a lot of time on the metro.
My Portuguese is getting pretty darn good. At least my vocabulary for food and drink.
I'm consumed with thoughts of trying to get back to Portugal, possibly for good.
That's all. I have decided that these posts should get shorter, I really enjoy writing but I don't think anyone likes reading the really longs ones, I mean I don't.
Farewell my friends, probably until the United States. It will be 3:30am in the morning in my mind when i get in. I'm not okay with that... or the whole time change thing