Does a room changes when the light is off?

It was a passive day today, nothing much happened which is fine by me. On the second bus stop I exited the trolley and saw a familiar jacket on the other door. I knew who it was, it was a guy I absolutely love. I don’t love him in the crush-like manner, I just love that guy, a mysterious soul hiding behind the face of the biggest jokester. We acknowledged each other and with a nod showed out greetings to one another, I think non of us was up for a conversation. I was looking through the window at the city lights, bridge, racing cars and the other side of the river. I also looked at a boy, who had his headphones in, just like my friend and I did, and he was looking through the window again. I think he probably noticed that I was looking at him so I drifted my eyes and stick them to the road. Sometimes when I ride, and especially in the bus or trolley, I look at the road and the white lines on the fast passing cement. When I stepped out of the bus I decided to take a walk, it’s a nice autmn-ish evening, without wind or rain. Everything looked so captivating and it seemed like it was screaming ”paint me, photograph me, save me in your tiny mind forever”, so I took my phone out and took some pictures. I climbed up the hill and turned around just to be met with the rest of the city and it’s fuzzy blue and yellow lights. The night is clear and I kept on walking. As the music stopped I was hearing city noises and the sound of my boots was prevailing. I walked my small route and started my way home. I feel like I could walk miles and miles without stopping or saying a word.

When I entered the house it was all dark, all lights are off. I decided not to turn them on. I put my jacket into the closet and took a look at my door. A small stripe of light was coming from the outside, creeping into the darkness. I left my things and turned off the music once again. Does the room around changes when I turn off the lights? And if do, how so? What changes in it and what does it change? Questions were flooding my mind but I didn’t bother to consider answering them. I set in the darkness and silence in my living room. Only light that appeared were two little, blinking blue lamps on my laptop. I took it and started writing. The blinding light that came from my screen was illuminating a few things around me, I just might turn it off again and sit by the window to watch the colorful city lights and think about how millions of faiths are in such a small area, twisting and interlacing, missing and bumping into each other. And how every and each one of us sometimes, no matter how many time we spent near each other or together don’t know the other one’s story. Just like I don’t know my friend’s, and just like my friend and I, no matter how much I wanted ,won’t spend some time together or get closer, because we are not destined to be.

A Man

coffee-and-cigarettes

Today I saw an old man sitting alone in a cafe. Outside was a sunny, quite hot day, you could say it was perfect. He was sitting, as I’ve already said, alone in the shadow of the cafe, holding a cigarette in his hand, flipping it around his fingers time to time. He was leaning on a table, hands crossed. He was looking in front of himself. Jazz was playing at the back. On the table were lying a coffee, plastic bag with something square shaped inside, a pocket of cigars with a lighter set on them and a couple of other things. He was deep in thought. What could he have been thinking about? Love or a job? A book or a trip? The days that were, are, or even the days that lie ahead of him? Mistakes or possibilities? Maybe he saw a girl who reminded him of his long lost love, or his wife when she was young. Maybe she left him and he is now thinking where did he go wrong, and the moment when she told him that she’s leaving him. Or he could have been thinking about the nights when they were having time of their lives. ”What is his profession?” was one of the questions I asked myself. Maybe he’s a lawyer or a doctor? He is quite chubby and by his features I would say he is a wealthy man. By the way he was dressed I would say that he lives in that neighborhood. Maybe he is a professor on a university? Or an owner of a company? He could be an investor as well. But, maybe he’s non of those things, maybe he is just a retired man from his job as a salesman or a cook? Maybe he was wealthy enough so he didn’t have to do anything? But he spent it all so he was recalling back the old times and thinking what he could have done to prevent that. By the sweatpants he was wearing I would say he is not as wealthy as he was, or he just pulled them out of the closet. They were quite worn out. I’d say he’s 63 years old, retired not long ago as a lawyer or a doctor, you name it. The cafe is dark and wooden. He was sitting in the middle of it, alone in the room. All other guests were sitting outside. Behind him is a gallery with two tables and a bar bellow it. The cafe was open, all of the windows were opened so you have a feeling that you are not in a closed room. He was looking outside, on a small street, pavement where the tables were set and, across the street, at one of the biggest parks in the city, where children were playing and dogs were running. Trees were making a shadow here and there and cars were parked in the small street. He had black shoes on, black sweats with white stripes on sides and a shirt. When I took the last glance of him he was still sitting at the same position, looking at the same spot through his glasses.