Beside all the busy roads packed with mainstream advertisements in the big city, I found this lovely avenue at the other end, hidden like the town’s best hidden secrets.
Those hidden secrets, at some places you’d expect them to be the least, so perfectly hidden and full of character.
It is one of those streets that smell like the artistic combination of self-rolled cigarettes and artisanal coffee.
It is full of artists, residing in old, beautiful and colourful houses, painted in every possible colour from pastel to bold.
It seems like one of these old, dusty unopened books, full of magic and good stories.
Have you ever walked down such a road and wandered what could have happened on there? Who would call it its home? Who would have spent their whole life there? And who wanted nothing but desperately leave it?
All these questions, so many possible answers about a magical street which has probably formed the essence of someone’s life. They might have had the happiest days of their lives there, when they were a pure bundle of joy sparking out the magic of simply being drunk on endorphins and pure love. They also might have had the saddest days of their lives there, when they were breaking down in tears like a dramatic waterfall, with a lack of any means of energy.
Some of them might have shared their lives with another person here.
Others might have been loners forever, loosing themselves in poetry, music and art.
Whenever I walk down this road, I see all the bars which treasure memories covered in empty glasses of out drunken pints, I see vintage shops with pieces I fell in love with but most of all I see a soul.
The soul of something real. Beside all the billboards, the trouble, the hectic life. The place, where the soul chose to live.
When I walked down the road the other day, whilst the sunshine tickled my skin, I saw a beautiful house covered in blue pained, framed by greenery all around.
It looked like every child’s dream house, as if it came straight out the Pippi Long stocking novel.
A glimpse of an eye later, a man was stepping out of that dream of a place to live in. My humble daydreaming self could not resist the coincidence and told him how beautiful his house looked like.
The old man in the denim dungarees, looking like a loving father and grandfather, started talking to me. He told me how he bought the house, how he started a family in there and how his kids spend their childhoods in it. I imagined how beautiful it must have been growing up there, in a street full of art. Next to his house is his beautiful store, full of vintage clothes and other antiques. He has travelled around the world to fill it full of treasures.
Treasures full of soul and value like life itself.
Whenever I will feel the sun ticking on my skin again, I will always remember myself, walking down feeling the magic, the atmosphere and the art of one of the most beautiful and long winding roads in this world, wearing my best dress.