Never look to the past to find your future.
Never ask for what ought to be offered.
Never stay when leaving wouldn’t hurt.
That night, all of it a haze of memory and dreams, which started in an underground dance club in a seedy part of town and ended in a sunrise rave at an ancient fortress on a hilltop overlooking the city and the sea, the clouds so low under us that we were watching the sun coming up from underneath them.
I was sitting on the stone walls of the castle with a group of backpackers from a tiny island country across the world, our feet dangling over tree tops, and the wind blowing in from the sea, when suddenly a group of seagulls burst upwards toward us through the cloud cover as it was parting, their wings lit up like gold in the rays of the rising sun, and we felt like we were those seagulls, capable of going higher and higher, carrying the energy of the night and the new day with us, the rhythmic beat of the music echoing through the abandoned hallways of the fortress granting us that power of flight.
That night was déjà vu opening its first bracket. Years later, I am closing it here, silently, my voice gone, the music no longer a part of me but an old familiar friend to fondly pay a visit to, my mind like those echoing hallways, ancient and empty, wise and no longer of this world.