Thousands of people have passed by this old street they call Calle Crisologo
Thousands of people are still passing, bumping each other without saying “Hi and Hellos”
At times it is crowded, sometimes one would feel alone
But this street is always mysterious, it could prolly be the cobblestones.
Everyone’s busy. Everyone’s amused.
That feeling of seeing something for the first time
It’s always amazing
Yes, it’s always amazing.
The feeling is good!
The array of vintage houses
This sight itself is truly a delight
An eye candy sort of sepia type.
The music of horses’ hooves
The vintage shops on the sides
What could you ever ask for?
Ah.. hmm.. a countless selfies, maybe?
Dear, let’s capture the memories, por favor?
Speakin’ of antiquity and richness
Seem like History tickles one’s mind in every step
One, two, three, another step
Sunddenly
My knees tremble…
Shifting from present to past, past to present
In a snap, I felt
Dislocated, confused, and vice versa
Why is it so perpetually good to look back?
Why do we wish these muted old walls could talk?
Why do we believe that people can just let bygones be bygones?
Why do we desire to relive the memories that have long been deeply embellished?
The answer? None.
The answer. Run.
Thousands of people have passed by this old street they call Calle Crisologo
Thousands of people are still passing, How I wish we could bump into each other again and say “Hi and Hellos”
But then again, I answered none. I ran.
But then again, I answered none. I ran.
Walking away in the tune of…
We’ve only just Vigan
White lace and promises
A kiss for luck and we’re on our way
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