I walked the red street, and alongside the walls I saw the shadows of all those who roamed those very streets and sidewalks back in that time.
The contrast of the flamboyant color of my presence and the grayness of their past was crystal in my mind.
My vision literally split into parallel mirrors. How was that possible? To this day I never quite understood what happened to me, nor why.
Women in jeans, walking the footsteps of newly found liberty. Men with big hair, and proud smiles were engulfed in an air of possible hope.
The cause was walking the streets of Beirut.
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October 11, 2009 at 4:40 am
racha
I loveeeeeeee it!!
You’re talented!!!:)
July 8, 2011 at 3:42 pm
Pierre
I would still like to believe that Beirut retains a little of its old spirit, even so much as to make a faint breeze, but I walk through and I don’t feel anything. The nostalgia grows and makes of me an alien in the place as an old tree that has outlived its season and is still bearing last year’s fruits.