.שלום
The Clicks went to Brighton on thursday.
Weird, weird place. Starting from its name. It sounds like a unkept promise: Brighton.
Bright? Not at all.
I've always felt the same about it. Brighton looks like a sad, beautiful, lonely woman. No longer young, no longer loved, the wrinkles ploughing her face like a curse while she watches the sea silently. But in some way she's still proud, still she keeps her ancient elegance. Can you see it?
There's still a light somewhere in her big eyes. It burns just for a second and disappears, again.
No way. You'll never know what she was thinking about. (..Maybe the Old Times? But which ones, lady? Have you ever been happy?). She'll never say. Just smiles, like one who smiles with his own sadness.
Look at the sky! It rains and the sun shines.
No, you don't really expect a sea-place to be like this. We got used to carribbean-like landscapes, vomiting sunrays and happiness all around.
When one thinks about the sea, doesn't think of Brighton. Of its cold water. Its fury.
This is a real sea though. Roaring, and angry. Immense. Ugly and bitter.
But awfully,
awfully alive.
The Clicks went to Brighton on thursday.
Weird, weird place. Starting from its name. It sounds like a unkept promise: Brighton.
Bright? Not at all.
I've always felt the same about it. Brighton looks like a sad, beautiful, lonely woman. No longer young, no longer loved, the wrinkles ploughing her face like a curse while she watches the sea silently. But in some way she's still proud, still she keeps her ancient elegance. Can you see it?
There's still a light somewhere in her big eyes. It burns just for a second and disappears, again.
No way. You'll never know what she was thinking about. (..Maybe the Old Times? But which ones, lady? Have you ever been happy?). She'll never say. Just smiles, like one who smiles with his own sadness.
Look at the sky! It rains and the sun shines.
No, you don't really expect a sea-place to be like this. We got used to carribbean-like landscapes, vomiting sunrays and happiness all around.
When one thinks about the sea, doesn't think of Brighton. Of its cold water. Its fury.
This is a real sea though. Roaring, and angry. Immense. Ugly and bitter.
But awfully,
awfully alive.
1 comment:
Wonderful posting
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