I don’t like being in crowds.
I like crowds, I like being in a safe distance from the world and stand on the very back of a pavement, back leaning against the fence and enjoy the view of movements.
I don’t like being in movements.
Too many distractions to follow, too many directions, and too many… movements. I usually just sit on the wooden chair at my home’s terrace, there is not much to see — the view — but I enjoy the stillness and the peace it brings.
I think it was around the spring, when I first became a part of life. A green plastic ball rolled slowly, making its way to my leg. In the distance, a kid ran toward me, shouting something I couldn’t catch, but it didn’t take a genius to guess he was asking for the ball.
Of course, a genius could also be wrong.
He asked me to join him.
“My team needs one more person to make it a fair play.”
That spring, I learned two things. That life is much more than just being a watcher. And there is no such thing as fair play.
The second time I became a part of life — not just life, but someone’s life — was the winter that followed. Her skin sparkled under the lit of the moonlight and nothing looked more ethereal than the white smoke that danced around from her lips.
“Stay with me.”
She looked beautiful. Hair long black raven, and eyes bloodshot red. Her fingers trembled when she tried to reach me and I never noticed how small her palm was compared to mine.
“I can’t.” I said, buttoning up my shirt. I glanced at her. She was beautiful, that much I knew.
“You know that.”
That freezing night, I learned another two things. That life is so much more than just being a player. And nothing lasts. Not even the beautiful things.
Especially the beautiful things.
A ball rolls toward my leg, and in the distance I can see a kid running toward me, shouting something too far for my ears to catch.
This time, I walk away.