"I forgot what my father said
I forgot what he said
I forgot what my mother said
as we layed upon your bed

A city full of flowers
a city full of rain
I got seven days to live my life
or seven ways to die

I forgot what my brother said
I forgot what he said
I don't regret anything at all
I remember how he wept

On a bridge of violent people
I was small enough to cry
I got seven days to live my life
or seven ways to die

Hold my face before you
still my trembling heart
Seven days to live my life
or seven ways to die

The Gods forgot they've made me
so I forgot them to
I listen to the shadows
I play among their graves

My heart is never broken
my patience never tried
I got seven days to live my life
or seven ways to die
Seven days to live my life
or seven ways to die"
-Seven, David Bowie
(the song that always bring me back to those 7x2 days)

Forgotten

Amsterdam. It was the one time in my life that I felt free from the push and pull of the world. It was my two weeks of just being. I was, technically speaking, on a map, in a place, surrounded by hundreds and thousands of people, but I had managed to escape. The who's and how's and why's are another story, for another day entirely. I was with the person who at that particular time in my life was the one person I could trust with being off the atlas for a short time. Nothing from the default of mundane could touch me there, and all I was left with was pure awe and wonder. Every experience was extraordinary, every passing stranger met with a smile. There where some darker and more challenging points to this venture, to be certain, but over all I left with a stronger hope for the larger scope of life, and a firmer belief that magick does indeed exist.