Stroke of light

It was a bookstore café. And beyond the vanilla and cinnamon, it was a very subtle but persistent scent of paper and ink. It was not the place I had in mind, but I liked the purple flowers in a transparent bottle, the bright light green and royal violet of the cushions and the turquoise blue of the candle holders. It was cozy and colorful and the whole atmosphere was matching well with an ice café latte and the piece of white paper in front of me.
I was never good at writing letters. I was unhandy and sort of awkward with words. In the end it was a bit ironic to try writing a letter by hand in a bookstore’s café. The best letters I ever thought of have never been written. Those soliloquies refused to cope with paper. Life of such words is shorter than usual. Seconds. Imperceptibly the earworm had changed. A different tune with a different beat residually floating. “I remember”. Maybe if I would be able to transform the beats into the Morse code, what would I found out? What should I remember? But that letter was written and sent. It crossed the town to find a post office opened on Saturday late afternoon. Going back downtown in that yellow cab I had the impulse to look back. It was nothing in particular to see but a gray stripe of asphalt left behind. No marvelous sunset, no breezy sunrise. Nothing but a hot quiet summer afternoon in the suburbs. So, I did not do it. I think I have seen a shooting star on that late summer night, when the Perseids appeared on the northern sky. I was waiting for the bus. A short stroke of light hit my peripheral vision. I knew it was a shooting star. Few weeks after, in a small village near the sea, on a wild remote beach I saw it again. There’s nothing more soothing than to sit on the sand listening to the sea and watching the night sky. Big dipper. Tail of small comet maybe. North star. Contours of stars clusters. Sound of waves. That night I’ve seen you in a dream. You were sitting on a bench looking at me. I saw your dark hazel hair in that austere almost colorless church-like hall. I was so startled. My feet froze. I just saw you standing up and leaving that hall. I watched your silhouette fading away and my voiceless please don’t go was never heard. I knew I should follow but could not move. My heart pounding hard woke me up… please stay.

Photo: http://areaofinterest.com/post/38728828907/michael-chase