Prague

Prague is like an enchanted vine. It slowly wraps its tendrils around you, so softly you don't notice how tightly entangled you are until you try to leave. You can't leave, and at two in the morning you find yourself sitting in a beautiful, dusk-lit apartment listening to a girl sing Czech folk songs in a voice that, at that moment, seems like the most wonderful voice you've ever heard. She leaves, and then it's three-thirty in the morning and it becomes apparent that you connect with your friend, who was playing music at the bar downstairs and is the reason you are in an apartment listening to Czech folk songs, on another level. And you feel the city tighten its grip on you and the temporary nature of everything becomes obvious and all you want is one more day. So you take one more day but eventually you break free and leave feeling bruised, but happy you let yourself get pulled in.