I live in a beautiful city. I enjoy the pace of Salamanca, and its grand edifices. But I don’t love it. Not yet, anyway. I’m still a stranger here. This place is not my home. Recently though, Salamanca gave me a housewarming gift anyway.
I got horribly lost.
In the wee hours of the morning.
When nobody was around to watch me wander.
The facts of how I ended up being lost at such an absurd time really aren’t important, rather the city itself and me lost in it was something I needed.
As I strolled, I avoided the noise of people, taking advantage of my lonely walk. I took turns here and there, trying to head in the general direction of my apartment, but with no true efficiency. I had no where I had to be so I took my time along the streets. They are confined by sheer, high walls with lanterns mounted 12 feet up which cast the world in shadows and yellow light. Around each corner architectural feats of eras past loom. I found many new paths and plazas to possibly get lost in again sometime. But this time, I was able to begin to see how I could love this place. For the first time, I didn’t feel like a stranger looking in. I felt like Salamanca was shifting her walkways, helping me be lost on purpose. I spent an hour walking around alone, passing only the occasional street cleaner. Perhaps Salamanca could be part of my life, not just the people, but the city. I could have a place unrelated to my friendships here. This could become home.