Brighton's always cold, but in a deceptive, refreshing way.
Like most of God's good graces, it comes alive at night,
And that nocturnal nature is something I hope will become
Instilled in me as time goes by.
The sea air makes your hair thick.
A city by the sea always seemed like a contradiction
in terms,
but the best of both worlds would be found at the end of it,
wouldn't it?
I tire of Pigeons and the hustles and bustles of London.
To come home with pollution skins and tired eyes must lay heavy
on the soul when it becomes second nature.
Sitting on the pebbles near the charcoaled carcass of a national
landmark to peer into the distance,
Is honestly, I believe the closest thing these brittle bones can
come to heaven.
Even if it is burdened by the normall failings of man,
I still want to be here.
I want to walk through the laines, and relax on the beach
for as long as I can.
Brighton, by Samuel Taylor, 20