Bookmark #657

As far as the clock is considered, it is closer to the evening than the afternoon, but looking outside, this cloudy steel blue, almost metallic, chrome-like sky tells me it’s still morning. The clouds give both highlights and shadows, it is a beautiful sight, and it does not seem like the day will descend into darkness soon. If every clock in the world was suddenly out of the picture, and if we went by what we saw, I would be convinced it was still early in the day, that the sun had just come out, if at all. This is what a couple of days of rain does to things. Its purpose is to slow things down, to help us eliminate the construct of time. On a rainy day, delays are okay. When someone enters a room drenched, drops trickling off every corner of their being, you can only offer a towel and ask, “Are you okay?” That is all you must do. If you’re on the receiving end, well, rest assured. The weather has your back.

On this languid day, this comfortingly listless hour, I make another cup of coffee and walk about the apartment. It is a moment of thought, but most moments are made better with a bit of perspective. If only most of us know this before we let them—and our words—slip. I often wonder what other people think on a day like this or throughout their lives. Even if they told me, it would not be enough. A description is a washed-out version of a vivid picture. Even if your vocabulary is overflowing, you cannot convey the image formed in your mind.

Do other people also have a reel playing in the background like a never-ending film, like the television in a noisy home? Does it stop abruptly in irrelevant places? It is a pointless inquiry. Even if someone said yes, I could not believe them.

The sun has started to peek a little—the grass has turned from green to a sort of chartreuse. But it is too late today—a formal appearance, like a friend drops at a party for fifteen minutes, not because they wanted to be there, but out of duty, out of time spent together earlier. Then, they look outside the window and say, “It seems it is going to rain; I should get going,” and no one protests their leaving. It is reasonable—after all, we do not want anyone to get drenched.

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