“When arriving in a city, we see streets in perspective.
Sequences of buildings with no meaning. Everything is unknown, virgin.
Later we’ll have lived in this city.
We’ll have walked in its streets.
We’ll have been to the end of the perspectives.
We’ll have seen all the buildings.
We’ll have lived stories with people.
When we’ll have lived in this city, we’ll have taken this street a thousand times. After a moment, everything belongs to you because you’ve lived there.

It was to happen but I didn’t know it yet.

Urquinaona. Groningen.
This thing that sounds weird was added to the long list of old weird names
that we have somewhere in our brain. Urquinaona, slightly slipped next to Mouffetard, Bondoufle, Ponteaux-Combault, Marolles-en-Hurepoix, Mandelieu-La Napoule and Knok le Zout.
Groningen, slightly slipped next to São Vítor, Ermesinde, Britelo, Areosa and Porto.

It becomes normal and familiar.”

from L’auberge espagnole, the image is from kokjebalder.

now that i’ve settled down and i can say “i’m back”, i realize how much i miss all the little things i called “home” last year.