Brussels

Brussels is a city like the curling smoke towards a window from a gentleman in the corner of a quiet bar.

It’s a city where you feel weirdly safe, but never entirely relaxed. 

Like someone might lift your wallet with one hand and offer to buy you a drink with the other. 

Delirium. Neon lights. Pink elephants. Hundreds of beers on tap. The kind of crowd that smells like hostel soap and long-distance train stations. 

The city felt like a song I couldn’t place but somehow knew the words.

Brussels doesn’t seduce you. 

It lets you trip into it. Slightly confused, half in love, and not sure why.