If you ignore for a moment the tension in your calves, the creaking from your knees and the aching in your feet, you can imagine that the world is flowing around you when you walk. The colors of life tumbling and gushing, you a small pebble in the middle of an unstoppable and iridescent torrent; that is if you can conveniently ignore the existence of half of your body.
That is how I felt when we walked, held in a bubble of words exchanged without a care, scattered in the wind like lilies, not meaningless nevertheless. She was an old friend, a young soul who talked, for that matter so did I, two pebbles in an ocean masquerading as a river, meeting by chance. Occasionally there would be a spectacular ripple like a young couple in love or a few beggars washing over us, pulling and tugging our conversation along, a random bump on the conversation bubble.
Often we would sit on benches skirting the road, observing the din and bustle around us. Somehow the noise rendered itself noiseless, allowing us to turn inward, to talk about struggles and triumphs. Sometimes I wonder if these walking conversations are outside the pull of life, a block in the irresistible flow, allowing us to be divorced from reality for a few ticks of the clock.
During these moments the masks would fall down, the frivolousness of everyday forgotten, words drifting into the realm of truth of our own existences, the rawness of our own being, whispers of the child inside us that always wanted to be held. They would grant a cherished friend, an understanding lover or sometimes a big sister I've always wanted. Despite their sweetness, you can't hold on to these bubbles. As always, beautiful things in life are transient.
That is how I felt when we walked, held in a bubble of words exchanged without a care, scattered in the wind like lilies, not meaningless nevertheless. She was an old friend, a young soul who talked, for that matter so did I, two pebbles in an ocean masquerading as a river, meeting by chance. Occasionally there would be a spectacular ripple like a young couple in love or a few beggars washing over us, pulling and tugging our conversation along, a random bump on the conversation bubble.
Often we would sit on benches skirting the road, observing the din and bustle around us. Somehow the noise rendered itself noiseless, allowing us to turn inward, to talk about struggles and triumphs. Sometimes I wonder if these walking conversations are outside the pull of life, a block in the irresistible flow, allowing us to be divorced from reality for a few ticks of the clock.
During these moments the masks would fall down, the frivolousness of everyday forgotten, words drifting into the realm of truth of our own existences, the rawness of our own being, whispers of the child inside us that always wanted to be held. They would grant a cherished friend, an understanding lover or sometimes a big sister I've always wanted. Despite their sweetness, you can't hold on to these bubbles. As always, beautiful things in life are transient.
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