A stranger and two enemies

The bus lurches to a stop. I press my coat against the suspended windows and I turn my head. The rain is sliding down, shimmering, running across the image of the moon melting into the clouds. The world is crying.

The bus doors open silently: they are trying to keep the sleeping passengers dormant. Carrying my bulky bag with both hands off the bus, my wallet drops on the floor. I hastily pick it up. Dropping it into my coat pocket, I notice two other strangers by my side. They’re busy. Or maybe they are just scared of being lonely. Either way, I shouldn’t care

 

“It seems like you don’t have an umbrella.”

One of the strangers glances at me, fleetingly. She has a curious glint in her eyes. Her tight platinum colored hair reflects green highlights. She lets me step under her umbrella and we start walking. A strange feeling of safety settles through my mind.

 

We listen to the pitter-patter of the rain.

 

“The rain’s telling us a bed time story,” she states, and I watch her rubbery boots hit a small puddle.

 

“You’re right,” I say after a moment.

 

I ponder over her statement again. The more I think of it, the more it weighs on my mind. I can’t decipher it.

 

We suddenly stop walking.

 

Together, we look around the half asleep city. Shards of sharp moonlight shine through the puddles. Our eyes trace the fluorescent rows of windows from apartments nearby. I feel my mind has stopped working. I can’t help but behold such sight.

 

The city is wrapped in the moon’s soft but firm grasp. Looking up, watery streetlights are delicately glowing. My eyes take in each detail, hungrily but cautiously. I am afraid everything will unfold before me too fast. I taste out all the sensations of the moment. Nature has just decided to put together two enemies, the rain and the moon, and made a miracle out of it. It is so beautiful. I lose my breath.

 

The stranger’s silhouette shrinks and I feel drops of moisture slide down my body. I raise my hand to say goodbye. She winks, one hand in her coat pocket. Just like that, she melts away from my sight. I slide my hands down my pockets too. The wallet is gone.

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Plants, People & Music

I really adore plants, of any type, if that matters: young ones you can barely see and those that could almost overshadow you; dying plants, which cripple out complaints, and blooming ones that let out strange green auras. There are just so many types of plants; my head wants to spin in awe. There is so much variety, and they all live along together in a quiet flow of calm.

It’s especially refreshing when I find them in unexpected places. I’ll turn into an alley – and there’s a plant crawling up the windows – “Oh! How charming!” I’ll say to myself. I let its green tenderness sink through my thin skin and into my veins. Maybe at that moment, I can feel a little less worried from this life. Occasionally, the plants exhale a gentle blow of oxygen towards me as a thank-you – that is when I feel grateful.

At times, that even makes my day.

. . .

I hurry a bit faster towards the Yoshios’ apartment. Ms.Yoshio has asked me to babysit her newborn baby. Being slightly broke, I did not refuse such offer. I will exit that house with a bit more money. Continue reading