Stepping with caution in a long, black skirt, up and down winding staircases of stone worn smooth, with walls too close and lintels too low. Breathing in the damp, medieval air and thinking I was made for this. Losing myself in the history of murderous kings and jealous duchesses and servants no-one remembers, feeling their sorrows.
Sitting alone under ancient vaults, centuries groaning beneath my feet as I listen to the silence. Staring up at imposing, thick walls that have stood for seven hundred years and feeling that they are mine. Wandering like a ghost.
I'm finally reunited with my favourite castle, the one that stands by a river that flows backwards. I'm all alone and I'm home.
No comments:
Post a Comment