Meet in Place

Meet in peace…

Mettre en place


Miss in place

So many variations and in the end, it all comes down to one thing, one song.

One story.

I don’t know if it is because it was in France this track and album was recorded, but it has that French feeling to it. Something so old, yet fashioned it makes it exempt from getting old par definitionem. The story is old itself, it is timeless, and yet it is in my time and my time is in it.

Pure elegant, intricate passion. Flirt and finesse. The song – that’s what it became to me, the last one. The last with words.

In the beginning it was just the melody and the atmosphere that caught me. Later on I started eavesdropping to some more lyrics. I had a vague notion about some game. Before long the game was over, and before I realised this song had become an integrate part of me, one that I can relate to more than any one, and one that relates (to) me in a subtle yet bashing manner. When I realised it was all about me I couldn’t get rid of me. It was the first song I played after the end of the Fast.

The one that opened my eyes again and again. And the one that made them pour – not shade – their tears while I was walking the streets and underground passages of Budapest that Sunday when I did not sleep and was therefore restarted somewhere about noon.

Along with its sister, Standing Next to Me.

Well, not to me, definitely.

In this story, I had to learn to be the you and to do it with dignity. I don’t know if I ever will.

In my story, the playing the fools thing will remain confined to several week of intense chatting, sometimes at night, chatting glistening with the sparks in my eyes at each smiley of hers, and soaked with their tears when it never came to pass through the gates to reality, a place that will forever remain the original meeting place for me.

I now know at least a part of the original story – it was something similar to what I imagined in the very beginning. I’ve even started reading the eponymous story penned by some Elena Kane and Alex himself, with some contributions by Miles. These guys are pieces of genius, aren’t they.

What I don’t know is whether they will ever be aware of the importance their brainchild came to be attributed to by a small boy somewhere in the Wild East, not only of the magnitude of this importance, but also of its nature.

By all means, I paid a special tribute to the meeting place last Friday when I missed my bus – although in order to catch it, I had turned down my friend Margiris who was calling me to stop.

I was running – it was important for me to get there in time. Who knows if she was in that bus.

In the end of the day, and also of the days and nights that followed, it was all God’s will.

Instead a love letter in the sand I left one on a bench – she will never read it and it will probably be taken away by years and old ladies sitting on it, but it will still echo…I know she’s sorry she met me…darling…and me, I’m sorry she left me…