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.
She was sitting in a darkened room with music blaring loudly. It was some cheesy romantic song. *Ping*. It was a message notification on Facebook.
When night falls and not a single voice is heard anywhere, I make my way to the room that now stays empty. I do not turn the lights on – oh no, I don't.
Let me ask you – are you familiar? With that kind of happiness that flows down in tears?
It was no longer crisp and glossy, nor was it pressed to absolute perfection. Its charcoal grey had washed away into a dull, tired version of itself, much like its owner.
Thousands of miles away, a TV screen flickered as the silhouette on the sofa seemed to lay asleep, a glass bottle in one hand and a TV program brochure in the other.
“Bonjour! Bienvenue!” said the flight attendant with a smile as she checked my boarding pass. “You're right in the front. Just go straight and it will be the second seat on your right. Enjoy your flight with French Air.” Thanking her, I made my way as directed.
There was a time when I used to live on a stage with ten other people. There wasn't an audience watching us but we weren't trying to please anyone. We were simply taking part in a play with
