unbearable comfort
I opened the window without noticing any surroundings but the air that fluctuated outside of my apartment, it was nice and comfortable inside, however, comfort becomes unbearable sometimes. And so it was impossible for me, to stay calm and reflective on such comfort. I put my right leg out to find the roof of the other building that stood just below my side window, then my head, followed by my body and, finally, the left leg; I was out. The cold air was painful that afternoon, cutting the skin with its desolate winter breeze; my hair unraveled from inside the gray wool sweater I had on to interact in restless movements with the air. The sweater, clearly wasn’t enough to protect me from the cold. Clearly as well, it was not my intention to be protected from the cold. I closed my eyes for a second, thought of a beautiful and joyful sky. Once I opened them, to gaze at the deep blue above, it was even more enchanting than the sky of my imagination, the clouds were abstractedly sparkled in three pieces, in an incomprehensible line that almost made them seem like a Monet painting, only that Monet though, would draw the water and, the sky indirectly reflected upon it.
“What are you doing? It is freezing outside”
My love cannot understand this necessity of breaking myself free from myself and mutually canceling a break over another. It is a vicious cycle, and this unbearable weight of thoughts, makes me become unbearable myself.
“I need some fresh air”, I replied, gazing at the running clouds; “I need to feel lighter”.
And so much lighter did I feel when the wind penetrated my clothes, touching the skin of my back, to give me chills. It was absolutely beautiful; nature was being good to the ephemeral inhabitants of this madmen’s city, and much of its beauty, could only remind us all of the sadness floating above us. So, there I was, gazing at the sky and all its emptiness, trying to find a meaning to all this senseless illusions surrounding us, with the feeling that this was a meaningless day and, with the certainty however, that eventually in the future, once this day has long ended, I would find a purpose to it. It would only become clear once there was nothing more to do with it, once the blue ink of the sky has dried completely on my memory.
He sat on the inside of the window, I on the outside. He thus, started speaking about how to find a solution to the problem of the day – that has actually been carrying itself on my shadow for months now – showing me the positive solutions that could maybe work, even though I was certain they wouldn’t, and I still am – endlessly skeptical after all. Nevertheless, I was wondering why all that drama - for something that would pass, and disappear from my life, just like the clouds were instantly doing as I watched them from the roof. What really kills my heart is acknowledging the lack of empathy so many people have, and thus, what a meaningless life it must be – there you go, they should be the ones gazing at the sky, looking for a purpose; as far as I know, everyone (almost everyone) has a disguising wrong idea of what success is, so why to spend an entire life working hard for such success to get emptiness back – what a pity; and why am I the one gazing at those clouds, ephemeral as ourselves, I ask myself. The power of contemplation is exclusive to the few ones that can actually comprehend the desolation of life, and perhaps, only these few ones do know that there is a lot to learn when looking at one’s eyes.
A.