West Village and the rest

So he says he can see me in West Village. Because he has seen me there and he liked what he saw. He says he saw me be happy and free for the last time over there. Thing is, he has no idea what the reason was. And then this whole sentence just goes to show that he doesn't know me at all. Which I had suspected before, but still. My words are all over the place, I go to concerts and dance with my eyes closed. I smile, I listen to what everyone has to say, and I don't remember any of it later on. I roam the streets of Budapest until the sun comes up, and I meet so many people along the way, that by next day, I have no idea where the night had started. I sleep three to four hours a night, I discover weird things on my body. I fall in love every single day, sometimes for just a minute, other times for hours. My principles are probably planning a war against me because I have pretty much been ignoring them. Surprisingly, I can still look at myself in the mirror every morning. I have nothing to be ashamed of, to be sorry about, to keep a secret.

I can also see myself living in West Village, by the way.