Fog over Lisbon

The photo is not that good but it gives you an idea. Fog was covering the city this evening, like a pale cold blanket. I don't know why but I like grey days. Most people don't, they prefer the sunny days, when the sun shines warmly and the sky is blue and everything is perfect for a postcard, one of those you buy for forty cents at any street store to send to your family and friends. I like grey days though. Always did. The best moments in the beach were not under the bright sunlight, but in those gray, misty days when one look at the wide ocean and cannot tell where the sea ends and the sky begins, they look one and the same, blended in grey. I stared at the city and it was as if it was fading away into the eerie mist, the castle's hill already taken. Could feel small drops of water falling in my skin, telling me that it was all around me. I like the mist. It feels melancholic and a sad in a way, as it blurs everything. As if everything is falling into the emptiness between worlds, the emptiness that, as beckett once said, all the resurrected dead of all the ages wouldn't fill. I'll leave this room in a bit and everything will have vanished, the city's lights will be the night's ghosts and all shapes will be faint, and the whole world will be in the palm of my hand.