The place had no soul or spirit left, and it was evident in the colourless walls, the unclean glasses, the empty eyes of the server who left me a menu card.
I’d never felt sadder at the prospect of not being a part of someone else’s story.
The infallible whiteness of the walls, the omnipresent smell of disinfectants, and the fields of artificial grass come back to me. Swimming before me are visions of smiling children and the legions of overworked childcare professionals constantly at their service. Every blink threatens to permanently relocate me to their world of ceaseless laughter.
It’s God’s funny way of reminding me that all that is received is a gift that is broken.
Every day at 3 AM I’d see her. She’d be in the second compartment of the subway sitting with her legs crossed with a book in her hand. Always with a book in her hand. She’d sit so perfectly and so still, you’d mistake her for a china doll. If she did not occasionally flip the pages of her book, I would actually think so. Even when she flipped the pages she’d do so with the utmost grace.
A sigh escapes my mouth again as I unknowingly get back to looking for you.
“You’re not listening to me, are you?” he asks, clearly disappointed. Ugh, I zoned out again.
“Fool!” he typed on his keyboard, with fervor and angst. He knew he was right. He knew they were in the wrong.
“It is my firm belief that I, Verico Moname, am a rational educated human being who doesn’t allow her life to be ruled or ruined by myths she heard about in her first grade Math class.”
It’s middle of the night. I’m staring at the restless lady with sweaty temple waiting for her train. May be she’s enjoying solitude or getting bored with it.
