I'm looking for a city I can call home.

“You take delight not in a city's seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours.” ― Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

I've heard that people fall in love with cities, get attached to them, and live long enough in them to call them home. I've fallen in love with various cities and towns but never lived long enough in any to get attached or call them home. Or never really ventured out for actually falling head over heels in love with them. I hate crowded places, so I avoid them. I avoid all forms of noise, confined areas, and I have curfew times. Surprisingly I don't mind having a curfew time because as most of my friends comment I tend to get most of my work done by 6 PM, tops 7 PM and head home. On rare cases when I end up staying out, be it in the city I live in or the cities I visit, I find those moments magical, driven by passion, and as you might conclude, I get attached to them. I become clingy to those moments and relive them inside my head a thousand times. A million times.

The nasty past about falling in love with cities is that you're heartbroken when you leave them. What you once called a home will no longer shelter you and your whims and caprices. And starting over is never a cream puff. Starting over after having a home so wonderful has the power of ripping us to shreds. I believe some cities and towns are truly potent enough to break us down and bring us to their feet. You get lost in their pandemonium, the people walking the streets like you and me - somewhat clueless, somewhat sorted. You can never call these cities and towns your own for thousands are doing the same. It's not your home when there are millions attached to the same skyline you wake up for. That's the problem, I mean. I can never get attached to cities because there will be many like me, who arrive and depart. Sometimes way before their time.

But I wonder, certainly wonder what it might feel like to venture a bit out of comfort zone, rip off my walls of caution, wander the by-lanes of all the cities I've lived in and see if I can ever call any of them my home. Maybe I cannot, but it might not hurt to try.

See I've heard that people fall in love with cities, get attached to them, and live in them long enough to call them home although I haven't yet.

But hey, I'm looking for one.

If your city has a vacancy for a homeless who fits the character definition of restlessly neurotic, stays indoor for a greater part of the deal and loves clear sunsets, let me know.

I might just sign up for it.

Tune for the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Ln-JJ3YiIk&list=RD8Ln-JJ3YiIk

Respite.

(Originally written for Paragraph.)

On a walk that deemed unfit for a cold winter night, he set off in a direction he never took before. The soles of his shoes were barely firm to protect his feet, but the condition of his windcheater was even worse. The streets were desolate as he paused under every streetlight before he moved any further and the wild wind did no good to his chapped cheeks. For a moment, he wondered if he was going in circles agonizing over the only shelter he left behind. Having no option left and no human in sight, he ran, engulfing himself in darkness and cold. He came to a halt when he saw a distant light. Catching his breath and senses, he approached the light. When he came close, he noticed that it was an all-night library. Glad to have found a roof for the night, he went in to find himself surrounded by large bookshelves and his long-lost lofty dreams. Life and blood rushed back to his cheeks as he held the hardcovers and inhaled the scent of the paperbacks. Maybe the world of fiction did more to the homeless than reality.

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