a cold day

I look out my window at the street below. I wonder what you are doing. Are you out with friends, or sitting alone like me. I picture your room, its cold and it has been like this for several days, if I close my eyes, I can visualize, everything in it. Right down, right down to the broken handle on the third drawer down of the dressing table. And the world outside your room is all so sad and dark on this grey day. The people move about the streets as if they are in a modern shopping centre. Their movements are mechanical and I doubt for the moment if they are real people. Their faces are blank and they turn their heads from side to side looking through the shop windows like circus clowns. In this moment I can stand it no longer to be in my tiny apartment. I put on my red coat, lock my thin door and head down the stairs to the street. I walk slow, looking ahead, not minding the enticing displays to either side of me. I have no idea where I am heading. I think about what I am doing in this city. I am so far away from everything that I know. My friends at home email me to say how they are going on beach holidays, and enjoying the sun in parks while avoiding going to uni. Here I am, in this cold, grey world, with half a degree to my name and no clue as to what happens next in my life. I think of you. Another foreigner, more comfortable in this world, due to the nearness of your country. Yet still I know how you feel drawn away. I wish that it was as easy for me to just return home and regather my strength. I wish I knew where you were. I walk through the city, and memories leap out at me. I pass that park where we sat, the bar where we fought, and the library where I first saw you. These memories are painful, I want to feel everything, but also I wish to be rid of them. I reach the river as it begins to rain. I look out at the river, its back ruffling in the wind. I think how it was once beautiful, but now it is murky and dark. Then I look up, the afternoon light is catching the top of the buildings, it’s beautiful through the rain. I throw my head back to the sky, as if the water will wash it all away and leave me fresh and clean. It rains harder and all the people around me open black umbrellas like dark flowers, blooming in the wet. For some reason I am overcome with an explicable joy, I feel like the only person in this city who is appreciating the weather. I turn and walk homewards, feeling lighter than I have in days. The rain has made a survivor out of me. The streets are slick with water, and the lit windows shine like jewels. I allow myself quick glances at them, as if I am trying not to let them know that I am looking, as if they are fascinating people that I can’t help but take a second look at. I think how this city is filled with such people, how I am part of this world, it affects me, even though my home surroundings contrast so heavily with it. The crowd sweeps me up with it, and I don’t feel like an outsider anymore. I stop at the lights and sigh deeply, breathing in the smells that are so familiar now, but were once interesting and new. I feel like I have just arrived again, that excited feeling, a tremor in my limbs. I return home to peel off my wet things and sit with a cup of tea and a cigarette by the fire, letting the heat seep back into my fingers. This is home, at least for the moment, this is home.