…and I will be ordinary again

Tomorrow I will wake up

And I will be ordinary again.

But for now, I am disembodied, roaming the streets of Dublin this late September night. With nothing to my name, except for the cigarette placed between my lips and the physical numbness caused by my own delusions. Or maybe its just the cold seeping into my bones?

Stumbling around an Oscar Wilde statue, in the same park he would play in as a child. I look to him as a God. For I, too, am a lost child in a playground of words, creole and delusions. Longing for the dreams, diversity I was promised in this city of legends and hopelessness.

Tomorrow I will wake up

And I will be ordinary again.

I will be mature with no optimism, faith, divine beings, or delusions. I will complain of a hangover headache and the smell of last night’s clothes, as the stench of cigarettes clings to my being. I will go to work, with no passion, as I serve every day people. There’ll be no memory of my night before, what we did, or how I ended up on a rocky train this morning, but all will be well because -

I will be ordinary again.