A misty winter morning had me all tangled up in my bed out of which, unfortunately, I had to get out.
I put on some clothes that I left on the chair the night before and I made myself some coffee.
The coffee made my morning a bit easier, but still, I was in a hurry.
I took my shoes, put them on, and I raced outside.
While I was walking through the mist, my eyes still half closed, I saw a silhouette of a familiar person.
She was walking slowly and carefully, as if this was the first time she was outside and free.
The street was empty, and the only thing you could hear were her shoes, clapping on the ground like they were applauding every step she makes.
The umbrella hid her face, but I knew she was looking at the ground while walking, as she usually does.
She didn’t notice me.
Well, she couldn’t, I found myself a cover behind the street lamps that were fighting with the mist and tiny raindrops.
I’ve had a guess about where she was going, I knew her habits very well.
She was walking towards a place where the memories never get old,
they never disappear,
they never die.
And I was right indeed.
She stopped at the place, our place, and stood there watching at it as if she was watching some kind of a deity whose powers are yet to be revealed to the world.
How did I know where she was going?
Each morning she walks the same route on her way to work.
Each morning I try to find a cover behind the street lamps.