Street Cats.

Jedziemy dalej. Dzisiaj będzie krótki tekst, ale za to jak bardzo melancholijno-nostalgiczny. Będzie wspomnienie lat liceum, najlepszego okresu w moim życiu. Będą też (nie moje) zdjęcia mojej mieściny, która kiedyś była najlepszym punktem na świecie, teraz przez 2 lata zmieniła się w jakiś rodzaj więzienia, w którym odbywam karę za uniesienie się pychą. I za lenistwo. No cóż. Parafrazując tekst piosenki: "That's me, that's me, the girl with the broken halo". 

Street Cats.

I remember. 

Most of the time I’m busy with life, daily unimportant things. But there are those nights when I remember everything. We were the street cats, always trying to stay out of troubles but they would find us eventually. Sooner or later. So we were going out, embracing the night, the streets of our darkened town. We had this one special place, this café with room for smokers. Because we were smokers those days. Some of us still are. We used to sat there, drink a few pints, smoke a pack or two, laugh and talk for hours. We were strangers at first but after one beer we were instantly friends. Or something like that. I remember the first time I saw you. I remember how our eyes constantly crossed above the table. Maybe we were talking. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that one night when we were drinking in that dirty alley. Indirect kisses by cigarettes and vodka bottle. How I fell in love with you. I always fall in love when I’m drunk. But this time was different. I remember you walking me on my bus station. I remember how I clinged onto your arm. I remember how I squeezed your body with that one last hug. I remember your smell on my clothes the next day. I remember all of that. But now we’ve changed. Everything’s changed. And I have to forget. The last time I saw you, you were walking down the street with your girlfriend. And my heart skipped a beat. Because I knew the very moment I’ve met you that we are never going to be together. But I still dreamed. Hoped. And it hurts every time. It hurts when I remember. And no matter how hard I try to forget I always end up remembering every detail. 

I remember. 

But I’m more than sure you’ve forgotten all of that. 

 ***

But we are still the street cats. Maybe we grow up a little. At least we're pretending to be adults but inside we're kids. Just learned how to drink alcohol. But we still walk on the kerbstones instead of pavements. We laugh at the starry sky, make blurry memories. Drunk walking to the store, saying hello to police officers, hiding vodka with a smugly faces. Good times. Maybe without love but still fun. Street cats. Roaming the streets in the middle of the night, when everyone is asleep. That's our time to shine.