Nothing shines brighter than Puerta del Sol in the midst of Madrid where streets and pavement roll; over yonder where the young night skies are blue. It’s so magical everywhere I look; indeed, it is utterly true.
As the evening grows deeper, and the stores one by one close, only the incandescent lamps remain lit, yet they only keep me active, and not a bit morose.
These undulating waves of golden luminescence that reach everywhere, and touch every corner, every nook – put me in a trance-like state that’s seen in my gait, and apparent in my look.
Oh, I yearn to stay at the plaza an hour more, or perhaps two, to continue admiring scenes around – every single sight, every single view.
And even when time creeps steadily into the night’s ungodly hours, relentless meandering I continue- while trying to keep sleepiness at bay. I’m one of the scant number of souls who still survey the place, albeit trudgingly i must say.
Until finally, even if my heart will not budge if it had its way, I accept that I am too languid, too weary not to call it a day.