WARM FEET ON A COLD MORNING FLOOR

F. wasn’t just seeking out new ways to erase the effect of the reflection he saw in the mirror everyday. He knew ways, how to deal with this slight irritating dilemma of not knowing who started back. Since he could remember, people around him had turned nervous and restricted when he spoke. Things were as they were and always had been, he had no real will to change it. He had himself and the power to imagine, a rare gift.

“Time is now, accepting some kind of risk is necessary, and to recognize true danger of what will come your way is and will always be the best way to leap into the unknown” he used to say to himself when he woke and sat on the side of his bed on early yet dark mornings. The city still yet to rustle and wake from it’s few hours of stillness and relative dark understanding of rest.

A man spending most of the night walking the streets of the deserted city, seeking nothing, finding all. Occupying small and dirty rooms, always moving on. Never letting anyone get used to his presence and recognize him. Always moving on.

The city had become a burden and even if it kept F. under shelter and in a dry state most of times he detested the people he shared the sidewalk with. The people whom he heard through the walls at night, the same people that so easily turned their eyes away when he met them on the streets. We are all neighbors in this stinking mess of brick and concrete. A revolting tidal wave of hate and rage used to build up within, so much that that he sometimes just had to stop and breath in long and heavy gulps of polluted air to calm and reason with the urge to lash out. The fuse was lit a long time ago, no turning back on that and he knew that if he wasn’t careful and choked the coming explosion he would uncontrollably set a chain reaction in motion that not even his most inner and stable demons could handle. Breathe, evaluate your motives and become the ghost you were born to be. Walk the streets, life amongst others in this primate utopia called a civilized world, a savaged life. F. knew better, even if he moved out from the boundaries of the city limits there wasn’t enough open land to harbor the blast he without doubt would trigger and set off with all its glory and utter draconian destruction.

A candle in every window as a symbol of understanding of the deed, a weak acceptance that with struggle the pain increases.

Floating naked in the rain, no end in sight just keep on moving, always keep on moving. Reflection less he stares back.

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