City lights

Early morning before the sun rises, looking through the window, from a house that is not mine.

Memories of the city lights in all the places I’ve been.

And the feelings that have always accompanied me when on the road at night, looking through the windows of cabs.

The signs in languages I don’t recognize anymore.

The strangeness of these places,

Being mine and being foreign at the same time.

Or is it the other way around?

The darkness makes everything look different.

And the questioning that follows.

Am I really here and now? I could be anywhere else.

Other people are everywhere else too.

Is this where I’m supposed to be?

Is there another place where I belong?

Where is home?

Is there even such a place?

As if the accidentality of life itself was made more obvious on the road, in a car, at night.