Another day, another morning, another yawn. Birds, chirping; wind is cool; sun, seemingly, soars so high -- at this time of day. It's a day you would call a day without a doubt, in one snap.
I can't even feel the heat of daylight.
Reminds me of days you would feel lagging behind, lazing in to a sleep, all day long, without doing anything much of a burden. When door creaks, and someone has entered -- you'll get slap awaken early in the morning, like a dummy that was never asleep nor never took a sleep, gobsmacked totally from all-nighters, from projects to homeworks. A slap is truly needed, with a crisp of what would become a thunder howl, aye nay sir.
And that's a splendid way restarting, I'd think.
School, school, school, things needed in school, etc. ... all check. Wednesday mornings aren't the best mornings. And they're not good nor better, I just realize that, just now. 6am, I woke up, my face felt beaten, and swollen, really. I do wonder about that -- a daybreak's wonder. Sighs.
The morning wind is piercingly cold, so to speak. But I ought to take a shower anyway -- frozen dead meat, me, yes. I became a ready-to-cook meat in no time.
And I can't be bothered anymore about that.
(Breakfast, toothpaste, comb, gel, water, water ... and whatnot and whatnot.)
My eyes would be wearing out soon enough, they're drooping, like there's heavy weight. Thankfully today would be nothing much ordinary, but extraordinary.
Chills run down from the spine of my back ... here I go, off I go -- again.
...
Three in the afternoon, and -- class dismiss.
Some notes here and there -- and, class dismiss.
We live in idle hands, idle nation, idle minds. Words like that, idle, idle, idle, are rather befitting reality, or the reality I'm living in. Whichever, still, we, I, felt stagnated. I'm anticipating overly the upcoming break, that reality in me almost breaks apart in the unwaning, antique time I'm moving in. Probably, that is the case. Some notes, here and there -- idle, idle, idle. Probably.
I held my bag and get out of the classroom.
Dismissal has never felt this great. Getting out of the classroom could be compared to getting an amnesty in malicious, false charge from the best of your enemies. It's a bird-cage-like prison where one could get his freedom from his master, when permitted, when necessary. Or when that out of free will. Whenever that time would come would probably still distant star away. Far, far away.
I'm at the third floor of this building; I can see what's what. I can hear voices, but I can barely make a thing out of it. Somehow, there was a sigh I heard, just now ...
My vision hasn't betrayed me yet (thankfully), I can see a teacher reprimanding a rather infamous student, together with his girlfriend Miss Goodwill on the other end of this building. Gesticulations were mostly consisted of: fan smack, nods, uh-huh, textbook smack (like it did hurt), finger pointing, sniffs, etc.
Hook, line and sinker; I know where they're getting at.
... I can just assume anyway. (And such bad habit this is, I know.)
Door creaks, and shuts. (... Where did that come from?)
It seems that classmate no. one and classmate no. two left the room soon after they've finished their duties of what I would humbly call Godliness that is cleaning duty. "Cleanliness is next to Godliness", they say. I firmly believe that, somehow.
I made my way through the ground floor's corridor and walk past maintenance staff no. one, mopping the floor ever so diligently, ever so fruitlessly. She could've just gone to mop it in non-busy hours. Today's much traffic, how thoughtful she is. Maintenance staff no. two seems busy idling, wise thinking, I'd think. That sort of thinking has changed my perception, even to the word "wise" per se.
And somehow, I idly think; everyone is busy.
Footsteps, those directionless, and motionless, those bearing footsteps, resounded in the whole building. Its monotonous, unchanging sound rings to the depth of my hearing. Everyone, of course, has been hearing the same thing.
It's not only me.
"It's gotten quite cold even in the afternoon, too?"
A voice exasperated behind me. Rather soundingly snappish, but it was a sigh of her own delight I'd once knew.
"Why, yes, we're in the Southern Hemisphere?"
"Yes, yes."
She lets out a laugh after barely finishing her sentence. A flippant answer we're giving in, to a flippant sarcasm we're giving in.
"But we are."
She adds, still. Curt and blunt, how unusual. (Like pointy sharp blade.)
It means you're so unfunny, haha.
The girl who has slapped me million times in my sleep, for the sake of me being alive, is casually walking home ahead of me. She's prancing around too irritating in one's eyes, and it's casual being her, her. (If I would think the other way round, that is.)
If I were to describe our relationship ... we happen to be neighbors, by one room apart. We happen to cross the same road, to that one (and only) and same, old apartment. Simply, that is all there is to it. I don't know anything much about her, except she loves barging in people's private lives, or rather, in my room.
And why she's giggling, laughing, walking past me all with a wide grin on her face, that is -- I don't know, either.
"..."
But, I think, she loves this month, this month when the air blowing is cool and everything just felt nostalgic, yet fresh.
I think.
Surely, absolutely, she loves it. A month of idling, a month of time-killing. And I've always been the great time-killer I was. I like this month, too, for all it is -- vacation, and cold weather and ...
For a moment, I idly stand.
And kill time, thinking.
It's getting dark, sun is setting down, and she stops.
"... Hey."
Fresh, cool wind, and fresh, dirty smoke -- as cars pass us by ...
We're at the bridge, and we have about five meters of distance from each other.
I rest both my arms on the metal railing for a bit while and look beyond -- shimmering light, in the river water, and green lilies with their purple-colored sprouts. The lilies didn't look like lilies, for a moment.
As I look at the sky, the sun spreads its color vigorously to the never ending blanket of gases. I breathe in coldness.
"Hey, you there ..."
I close my eyes, as the cool wind blow and brush against my skin.
"... how would you say thank you?"
"..."
I open my eyes, and face her, standing rather uprightly. I could not know ... nor could she know.
"..."
But there's one thing we could know. Somehow-- somehow, a sigh.
... She smiled. I smiled, at her, too. "... (whispers)"
