Dear Brussels, I want to break up with you.

Your absurdity used to be what made you cute,
A little dose of surrealism peppered our relationship, 
like a Magritte-esque sex toy.
I fell in love with your defaults.
Monumental scars defaced you,
sexy battle marks from pen-wielding urbanists .
I would defend you against those that didn’t understand,
Explain your hidden beauty.
Give them some of my keys to decipher and unlock you, 
and sometimes they still didn’t get it.
But we did! And we didn’t care what they thought!
My childhood sweetheart had become my wife, 
Brussels I loved you, and the sex was fantastic.

Oh how things have changed Brussels, 
You haven’t looked after yourself so your arteries are clogged, blocked,
the exhaust fumes of idling cars stuck going nowhere make your breath stink.
Rubbish and dirt pervade all your ill thought through urban planning,
initiatives that come from a good place,
but that need thought, thinking, and not just rash decision making.
You’ve let people that weren’t even chosen by you call those shots,
that didn’t listen to those that loved you, cared for you, and believed in you.

And for the past few months, the illness that you’ve been hiding 
in your commune of Molenbeek has spread across the city,
across Europe, spreading pain and misery, 
out in the open for all to see,
and changing the way people think about Europe as a whole.

The thing is I don’t even know how I could change you. 
And I’ve lost hope and confidence in the system that is in place. 
You have no leader, no one with a position of enough power,that has a bit of control over your 19 different mini-states within you.
You are so divided, cut-up, slaughtered, linguistically, politically, 
that you’re actually physically falling apart. 
You’re drowning in your sea of bureaucracy, 
hurting from the blame thrown across every political aisle.

And for those who have already left you, 
we watch through the news brought to us about you, 
and look on in disbelief, shock horror, 
talking, in the hushed tones 
of friends at a dinner party, about the hosts
shit taste in art.

You have the potential to be one of the world’s greatest cities, 
on par with the places your citizens are escaping to;
just an hour or two away on the train or plane, when not on strike.
You’re still a beautiful person on the inside and the outside,
All you need is a new girlfriend, boyfriend, to take you by the hand,
and lead you to once again be the place that we once loved. 
To help you gather those who want your best interest’s around you, 
and recreate that city full of energy, where creativity meets simplicity.
Where there are opportunities for everyone. 
A place where we feel safe.

And then, as always, the minute you have a new girlfriend/boyfriend, 
all your exes will come flying back.

Or not want to leave you in the first place.