Saturday, March 26, 2011

Window

She moved through the days with the deliberate considerations of someone who cared, though she knew it couldn't be further from the truth.

She unscrew the cap from a milk carton, and pour a second cup into her favorite green mug.  She heats it in the microwave before adding the shot of coffee into it to make a latte. Now that there is no expensive coffee breaks with cherished pals, she sighs happily with these homemade concoctions free of worrisome gossips and back talks.

But the days are long, in solitude.

The sun rises with the same brilliance pouring through the window.  Her morning routine of rushing through the first hours in complete hapless frenzy ends at nine.  Then she sits, waiting for the day to end, moving through pages of books she must read, to seek comfort, to live in a fantasy, to rest in the dreams of others who she will never meet.

Sometimes she sheds a few tears, in trying to reach out for a world that is suddenly moving too fast for her, like touching a cascading water fall in an attempt to catch a particular drop.  She typically fails at it, sighs some more, and sometimes, a few more tears.

It isn't unusual that she will go out and meet people, who sees nothing beneath her bubbly exterior, and greet her with warm hugs and chatty company.  She thaws for them, even for the moments right after their departure, but then the same lone rider always return, wrapping her in his cape of darkness.

Afternoons bring solace to her melancholy.  The sun being ever brighter, the day ever warmer, and the world ever louder.  Through the window the new neighbor from somewhere in Europe, perhaps Russia, perhaps Spain, or somewhere in between, would play the same cheery tunes on his piano accompanied by harmonica.  At first she was irritated by its monotonous melody, but after a few days she fell in love with it and would swing lightly with the music as do the leaves in the afternoon breeze.  Children would run past the narrow walkway just beneath the window, chirping in incomprehensible tones that nonetheless livens up even the slow moving snails and caterpillars.  Grandmas and housewives return from their grocery runs chatting about fluctuating prices and the latest choice vegetables; then there is always that one family who starts the cooking real early, fragrance of the spices culminating in the air, dancing to the tunes of exotic beats, and inspiring even tired nostrils to go for a different dream of culinary delights.

By then, all seems softer, and the slowness and solitude suddenly just right, for day dreams, for wanderings of the mind, for even tears and laughs, or for no reasons at all.

15 comments:

  1. This piece reminded me of my friend, Jezebel, who has social anxiety disorder. Very well done.

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  2. I love this piece you have written. As I journeyed through her day, it left me melancholy.

    I absolutely adore the paragraphs comparing the fast moving world with a cascading waterfall, and the one with the lone rider returning - "wrapping her in his cape of darkness" - Excellent writing!

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  3. Beautifully written. My favourite line which is truly excellent: "It isn't unusual that she will go out and meet people, who sees nothing beneath her bubbly exterior, and greet her with warm hugs and chatty company."

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  4. This is a lovely piece of writing which I really enjoyed reading. I found it beautifully melancholic.

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  5. I write and maintain a spiritual blog which I have titled “AccordingtotheBook” and I’d like to invite you to follow it.

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  6. This scene sounded eerily familiar. Writing and reading - such lonely pursuits. But the outside world is never kept at bay for too long. Your layering is lovely as always. :)

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  7. "...but then the same lone rider always return, wrapping her in his cape of darkness."

    Loved this line..

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  8. This is my second reading. I read it on Saturday and it really resonated with me. It felt in some way like my future. I was unable to comment.

    Beautifully written and I suspect it speaks to many of us who are introverted and reflective.

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  9. I love your writing style. I like this section of your work. "to rest in the dreams of others who she will never meet." I would like to hear more of this character. She lives in her own safe world, but can move outside it if needed. Thanks for sharing. Thank you for visiting my site. At the begining of Psychiatrist, I say that we all need to laugh at ourselves and the absurdity of the world around us. The post wasn't hard to write, because I do like to laugh at myself, and not take myself too seriously. Take care

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  10. A lovely reflective piece. I especially like the sound of the phrasing where she "would swing lightly with the music as do the leaves in the afternoon breeze." :)

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  11. I wonder if you built this around someone you actually know.

    I don't know if this is fiction, of course, and you need not say whether it is. But recently I learned that one technique for novelists with great characters is to copy them from actual people they have known well enough, then change some details to protect the innocent victim!

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  12. Beautifully written. I sometimes feel that way when I am stuck at home sick and the house is empty. It makes me think of the whimsy of melancholy on a quiet overcast and sleepy day. Loved it!

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  13. Very well written. I could feel her emotions, hear the music, and smell the cooking.
    Well done.

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  14. This was such a wonderful piece!

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  15. how inspiring to read your blog of blessings, I love lady bugs as well! Isn't it great to have a format of expression.
    Have a great week

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