A special day

 

It was another day. The sun had risen again, it was about to set again. But for me, this day was different, special. For the first time in a long time, I knew why I was getting up, what I was going to do. I hadn't eaten breakfast; I rarely did. I hurried out and bought razor blades at the store. They weren't expensive, I hadn't splurged, which only lifted my spirits. On my way back, I ran into a friend. I didn't feel like talking to her, but I thought to myself, what did I care? As usual, she was talking about nothing, just girly talk, about how her boyfriend was so cool, resourceful, and everything, wonderful. She was just worried about whether he'd be able to handle his job because... I still wasn't listening, I stared into her blue eyes and wondered if she realized what she was saying, that I didn't care at all, that when I muttered yes, I wasn't contributing anything to this discussion, and to put it bluntly, it was simply pointless. Is it so hard to understand that everyone has the same problems, just in different shades? But if I told her that, she'd probably start waving her hands nervously and accusing me of not understanding women, of having it easy because I'm alone. Funny how anyone can be happy being alone. Anyway, I listened to her complaints, because towards the end of our conversation, some complaints about that ideal surfaced. I wish I'd listened to a couple of sentences in the middle of the conversation. I probably would have known what they were, but whatever, I didn't care anymore. When I left her, I was a little angry with myself; I'd lost 45 minutes of that special day. I returned home and started wondering what to do now; it was only noon. Should I turn on some music as usual and drown in my thoughts for three or four hours, or go out and wander the streets, pretending to have a destination, when in reality, I was just looking for friends to brag about; that I went out because I had a lot of errands to run, places to visit, and generally, I was terribly busy and didn't have time for anything. So I decided to do it. I quickly counted the cash and, after a moment's hesitation, hurried to the kiosk. I wouldn't have enough money for a ticket. I bought some gum and, chewing manfully, stuffed my hands in my pockets, like a tough guy, and hurried off. To my surprise, a car stopped in front of me and waited. I looked inside; the driver turned out to be a friend I hadn't seen in a while, who offered me a ride without asking where I was going. I'd gotten used to this kind of person; he's one of those people who can summarize all his romantic conquests of the past week in 15 minutes, and it doesn't matter if they actually happened. Names like Kasia, Basia, Jasia, Stasia aren't memorable anyway, and you don't remember if they were in stories the last time we met. And if I did, well... well, then I'd be more bored than usual listening to a familiar story. In any case, I finally managed to get to the city center.Without wasting too much energy. I proudly got out of the car, even though I knew no one particularly noticed. With a false smile and an equally false assurance that we'd see each other again soon, I said goodbye. Finally, I was alone again, but what better company than just any old one? Although I chose the main streets of the city, I didn't encounter anyone I knew. Knowing my luck, I could have done it if I hadn't wanted to meet anyone. A little disappointed with the boring trip, I headed to the park. I found a suitable bench, the first available one, which, after sitting for a while, turned out to be the best one, I don't know if it was because it had almost all its planks, which is rare in my city, or because I was sitting on it. I had hundreds of things to consider; the memory of my last love, which still seared my soul while simultaneously warming it. I decided to think about that last, because it was the most important thing to me. So, at first, I began to ponder the question of the human soul—whether it was truly immortal, what would become of it... But then a young woman caught my eye; she was wearing tight black trousers with flared legs, a green blouse with a low neckline that hid her incredibly interesting figure, and a black beret. Her hair was tied back, revealing only a black ponytail. Unfortunately, I didn't see the crucial element—her eyes—but I'm sure they were equally captivating. The girl shifted nervously from foot to foot, perhaps waiting for something, because although the first chill had indeed arrived, it wasn't severe enough to freeze completely. I was certain she was waiting for something, or rather, for someone. I guess she didn't care how long it took, because when I'm waiting for something, I set myself a 15-minute limit and don't care. I go home. Admittedly, I extend that time by another 5 minutes, and then another, but when I'm an hour late, I give up and leave, frustrated. Meanwhile, she didn't even look at her watch, maybe she didn't have one, so she could have checked her cell phone. Everyone has a cell phone these days, but her battery might have died. So she definitely wanted to know the time, but no one was walking by, just these two guys, and they were so uninteresting, bald, in baggy pants. She probably thought that if she asked them, they'd get it in their heads that she was hitting on them and wouldn't leave her alone. So I decided to approach her and ask if I could help her with anything. Sure, I thought so, but the thought was a long way from reality. So, my second resolution: if she still waited until 3 o'clock, which was another 12 minutes, I'd approach her. About three minutes before my "action," the long-awaited lover showed up. He wasn't exactly a particularly attractive build; I probably looked better. What could he possibly have that I didn't? And I already knew, a woman in a beret. I wasn't defeated because I didn't attack.So, with a cleared corner, I got up and started my return journey. I boarded the bus at the last minute and hastily took a vacant seat. With equal enthusiasm, I left and jumped off the bus at the next stop, realizing I didn't have a ticket. So, a 20-minute walk ahead of me and I was home, well, almost, because there were traffic lights, crossing signs, and plenty of obstacles. It's been like this my whole life; even a seemingly straight road always holds some surprises, and they're rarely good ones. But I won't wallow in self-pity; I've been doing that quite often lately. No, on this special day, I'll look at it from a different perspective, from a cold witness. So, from the beginning. The subject of my deepest reflections will be, if no one has guessed by now: a woman. Apparently, a human too, but don't believe everything they say. The one I'm about to tell you about had a name... and anyway, it's not that important. I met her in a very common way: "Hi, I'm..." and so on. Later, it wasn't so common anymore. I always thought, "I don't need a woman to be happy," and that this whole love thing was a social disease, people so lonely and terrified of reality that they convince themselves they feel something they don't, just so they can complain to someone. Pathetic. And now I'm pathetic. Because when I saw her, I felt as if all the stars were inexorably converging on Earth, and their only target was my head. And I felt it, oh, I felt it... Entering the room, I couldn't remember why I'd left, how I managed to perform the incredibly complex operation that, at that moment, undoubtedly meant turning the doorknob, and crossing the threshold—I still don't know. Do you ever get the feeling that the entire world is talking to you? For example, you turn on the radio and there's a song about unrequited love? You turn on the TV and a program from the series "I Loved Him and He Left Me." You're walking down the street and see a couple arguing. But even though the world is practically screaming at you, you still think, "Oh, that's a sign it won't be like that for me." It's sick. If a piano fell on me, I'd probably think it was the delicate notes of love that spurred me on. A person in love is like a guy sitting in a tree and sawing off the branch he's sitting on. Well, imagine that I was still jumping on it because it wouldn't fall. Anyway, I started talking about the woman. I don't know if it was her beauty, because I've never met a more beautiful creature in my life, or her character: delicate, sensitive, witty, intelligent, talkative, understanding, trusting, like my ideal. Or simply stupid human stubbornness: she's so amazing, she has to be mine, because why would God create such perfection if she wasn't meant for me? I already know – to laugh at me. But I took up the gauntlet thrown by fate and tried my hand, I will not go into details of my unsuccessful attempts to get closer to my little angel,Because these aren't descriptions straight out of Playboy, and I know that's the only ones you're interested in. I was a gentleman through and through. Now I think I could have kissed her at least once and had something to remember, but then, under the influence of some stimulus, my face would probably have turned red, and the shape of a delicate, feminine hand would have formed on my left cheek. So I emerged victorious, well, almost, because I lost my dignity, pride, honor. I gave everything, and I got the usual, a big, juicy nothing! And even worse, because I also got sympathy. I don't know if it's so bad, actually. Now at least I have someone to count on when things get tough, but she's not with me, so I feel bad, and the cycle continues. So, "beaten" by a woman and convinced of the meaninglessness of my own life, I hatched an elaborate plan that I would soon put into action. Now I should have laughed evilly, but the grandmothers passing by might have thought it was some uncultured boy running down the street and going crazy. Not cultured? How could they?! Everyone knows that when some grandma or grandpa gets on the bus, everyone gives up their seat. Try not to give up and you'll hear something like, "Oh, these young people today." And we're not that bad. On my way to school, I've been elbowed in the stomach more than once, as I'm getting on, by some grandma who seems to think the bus driver's only goal is to get away from her, and everyone on the bus seems to think only of taking her seat, which she's chosen. And woe betide anyone who actually does that; through inattention or simply bad luck. Anyway, I was just approaching a traffic light, and a slim, short man caught my eye. He was dressed in a dark, long black coat. He was basically no different from the hundreds of people I'd met that day, yet there was something about him that kept me glued to his gaze. I think he was like me, walking among people, along their roads, their city, but not their world. He was pondering something, probably not what I was pondering, because he knew what he wanted. Rather, why he had to endure this? Why do people look at his long hair and combat boots, when they should have noticed something else. I noticed it; in his right hand he held a book. No, not just any book, it was an old leather-bound notebook with pages constantly being touched up. It was wrapped in a red ribbon, not like a gift; the ribbon was also worn, often removed to correct or add something, but not to change it. He understood that what he wrote there today, even if he thought differently tomorrow, would not change; it would still be on white paper, and years later he would be able to recall how stupid he once was, or how incredibly wise for his age. I think he was taking him to the girl, wanting to show her what he was like, how he used to be, how he could change. He wasn't entirely sure of his decision yet; he was afraid she might laugh at him, or worse, misunderstand him.In my opinion, however, his love will hug him tightly and say, "You are with me and you have nothing to fear." She will surely kiss him gently later, and he will feel that it was worth being born, living, and suffering for this one moment. Because it no longer matters what will happen tomorrow or next year; the only thing that matters is that she is with him and is happy. And then they will understand that this can always be the case, that other people are irrelevant, that only their love is important. They will find what they were looking for and abandon what they feared.

Green light, I set off. I hurried past him and smiled, he smiled back. I never saw him again, but I'm sure he was happy. I rushed into the house, exhausted from climbing the stairs and convinced I'd collapse onto the bed and relax in a moment. But to my surprise, and the inexpressible joy of a certain being, immediately after crossing the front door, I was handed a leash. This isn't a metaphor, quite honestly, I was immediately violently pulled down the stairs and dragged all the way down. Because that's pretty much what walking my dog ​​is like. He's in front, and I'm at leash length and an arm's length behind him, if I can stand, which isn't as easy as it might seem. So, towed by my beast, I went for a walk. To improve my mood, I chose a rather secluded spot, where people rarely go in the evening. In reality, I was dragged there by the aforementioned person, and unfortunately, it was only around 5 and rather light, so there were a lot of walkers. I finally managed to unleash my monster and I could revel in the beauty of nature. And once again, the world wanted to tell me something; you'd never guess who appeared on my path. None other than a couple in love. They were walking hand in hand. How romantic. Except they'd probably taken hundreds, if not thousands, of such romantic walks. Compared to them, my grandparents were young. And I was surprised; they were still passionate about each other, the way they spoke to each other, the way they looked at each other. Love was in the air. But my dog ​​sensed something else and started barking at them. An idiot, I don't know who he got it from. After a moment, he ran off, interested in something much more interesting; I think the cyclist was riding. And they didn't even care. Is this what true love is supposed to be like? Is it immortal, timeless? There were no fears in their minds; they didn't think about death overtaking one of them, leaving the other alone. That would be terrible, spending your entire life with one person, and then, at some point, you're left alone. I think I experienced something similar, but a bit differently. I was with a special person for a brief moment, and now I have my whole life alone. Well, actually, I was with them, not with them. Maybe it was meant to be; I was meant to learn something, because if I don't learn this lesson, I'll perish miserably. And so we come to where I am now. Let me explain; in short: I returned home, ate the dinner prepared for me, went to my room, and quickly wrote a letter. It wasn't difficult to write it; I'd already had the words in my head; all I had to do was put them down on paper. I took it with me, along with my supplies. At 7 p.m., just before sunset, I left the house and went to the roof. Here my story ends, here everything ends. Another day dies. A moment of deceptive pain is nothing compared to the suffering my soul has been exposed to all these years. I already feel cold, a strange sensation I haven't felt in a long time.I feel funny, a funny tingling in my hands. Simple feelings fade into the distance, there's no more fear, no more regret. There's no guilt, it's my decision, and others..., they no longer matter to me. Everyone is the master of their own fate, and not everything has to end well, but I don't know yet if this ending is bad; I'll find out soon. Everything begins in a thought, so I guess it must end there too, but this thought probably won't belong to me anymore. I lean my back against the chimney, facing the setting sun, I see the last rays dancing across the clouds. Red, red everywhere, the whole world drowned in that color. I hear the wind gently whispering someone's name, my vision is getting worse, I'm no longer cold, I'm already well. I know that name, it's...