Monday, February 2, 2009

Girl from Mars

Sitting in our dreamy days by the water's edge, 
On a cold summer's night.
Fireflies and stars in the sky,
Gentle, glowing light, 
From your cigarette.
The breeze blowing softly on my face,
Reminds me of something else.
Something that in my memory has been misplaced,
Suddenly it all comes back

For a long, long while, this was my favourite song in the world. And it's been playing around in my mind for a couple of days now, ever since I went to Belfast. 

I had some genuine reasons for heading to Belfast, you know. I've a flight leaving there in a few days, for one. I only had an 8 day visa for Ireland and needed to camp out in the UK, for another. I'd been curious about the Northern Irish conflict since I was a kid and wanted to see signs of the Troubles with my own eyes, for a third. 

But as soon as I got off the bus, my eyes flicked over the passenger lounge to see if she was there. As I walked down Great Victoria St, I kept glancing around. In fact, the whole time I was in Belfast, I kept looking around me - just in case. She lives in a town quite near to Belfast, and I suppose if she's wanting a night out, or a bit of shopping, she'd head for Belfast. I got chills from walking around the city, wishing and dreading the prospect of bumping into her. 

I don't think I'm psychotic, but for those two days, it definitely felt that way. 

Belfast is a grand little city - possibly the second grandest little city in the world - but I'm seriously glad I'm out of it. I've seen the Shankill murals and the slanting Albert Clock Tower. I've had a drink at the Crown Bar and ate some of the greasiest, fattest, most heart-stoppingly foul food I've ever known. 

But all I'll remember is walking around its chilly streets and humming that song. 

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