A messy travel journal in Berlin

the air here always smells like old paper and wet pavement, a ghostly hug that refuses to fade. i keep touching the walls, wondering if they remember my name or just crave a new number. yesterday’s coffee stain lingers, a tiny monument to poor decisions made at 3 a.m. in a hostel where the only person was the bartender humming some obscure synth track. the streetlight casts shadows that twist like secrets, yet today felt different-more like a whisper trapped in the concrete. a stray cat scrawled on a plaque, its purr a low, rhythmic counterpoint to the city’s relentless pulse. i wonder if the traffic here is a language i’m still learning, or if the whole place is a joke waiting to unravel. somewhere near the river, a vendor sells crisps that taste like nostalgia, and i’m stuck between craving them or not, like a man staring at a mirror that doesn’t reflect him properly. the night sky is dark, but not empty; it hums with a distant music, like a radio playing a song no one else can hear. i’ll stop now, but the city’s noise will never fully leave its grip. maybe it’s just waiting for me to stop watching.

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