Bianca Weeko Martin
Journalling Prague - February/June 2017 - Prague, Czech Republic

I'm on the rear facing seat on the tram and through my blurry vision I see the streets and dimly lit plaster slabs of New Town shrink away from me, as if the blackness of the night is swallowing them up now for good. For good? No, we will always have Prague. This was a city frozen in time, with its likeable ignorance and its spires rising proud against a world that has already moved far beyond them - but it was time we can call ours, suspended between the dust of our unlikely planetary collision. Ours to hold selfishly, forever. Others may love us and we will love them back, perhaps we will fight for causes larger than love and the feeling I speak of now will be swept away as another tired, old poem. But we were young and pretty and here, as best as we could, we were filtering the world through our searching and interlocking fingers; we were writing our own movie, painting our own picture, though new currents may move and displace us we will always have Prague.