Yerevan: one night left

My last night home before my last trip to Barcelona. Stupid city, crowds of tourists, crowds of pickpockets, crowds of drug addicts, crowds of homeless, crowds of drug dealers, crowds of pimps, crowds of illegals. Constant filth in the city center, a million stores for a billion tourists from richer countries and from poorer countries. People don't follow traffic rules, no one speaks English, all prices in restaurants and cafes are deliberately high, all souvenirs are made in china.

Not a pleasant city, but a favorite city. The city of beaches, the city of people from all over the world, the city of overworking, the city of ugly and insanely beautiful buildings, the city of talking in the street, the city of subways and getting up at five in the morning because you rent an apartment outside the city. A city of bike rides, a city where bikes disappear as soon as you turn your back on the bike. A city of dancing till the wee hours of the morning and drugs on the weekend.

No, that's not my city. My city is the city where we met in the neighborhood with the best cafes and restaurants. Where you took me in your arms on the beach, where we kissed when the beach was almost empty, it was very warm and dark outside. All the energy of that night would have been enough to light up a small village.

I have to let go. I'm letting you go, I'm letting the town go. We'll never meet again as we are now. I'm so sorry and I'm so free.