The world is a puffed-up balloon, onto which the needles of seconds fall. Sometimes they prick so sharply that a person must be born. To rise and speak a few warm words of truth. And that's it, nothing more.
It's summer. The trees grow strong, the fruit ripens, and no one, not a single thing, thinks of falling and piercing the delicate protective coating. People have left or scattered, so you can clearly see me strolling. With my arms folded behind me, I try to scare away the pigeons gathered by the cathedral. Sometimes, toddling along, almost in place, I felt like I was wandering. But this wandering was decidedly different from confusing cardinal directions; here, the unexpected turn was made by... thoughts.
And as you can imagine, at the least expected moment, you can get lost and, at the least expected moment, experience illumination. Illumination worthy of the solution to all your problems.
Bartek and I were sitting in a teahouse. It was just as the sun, already welling up outside, slowly gave way to the clouds. So we waited for the rain. The curbs were gray, the sidewalks gray, empty because something had happened and the streets were deserted. Sitting by the window and sipping, despite the chill, a refreshing drink made of mint leaves and ice cubes, we circled the mundane questions and their answers. Only Bartek's innate, theatrical flair (because you can't call it talent), as he toiled and searched for unusual phrases, while making rather cheap faces, made me feel
NOT EVERY DAY NOT.
And although I usually smile, or worse, laugh, just to maintain appearances, a semblance of decency, this time was no different.
I was wandering again, knowing exactly where I was, and the street was still empty and gray.
"It's probably going to pour soon," I glanced toward the window. And indeed, the road began to absorb the first drops of rain, and I still had the same problem.
Because if we assume everything is fate, our lives, the murmuring trees and their leaves, and this rustling rain, then why the hell even bother trying? I said. I fell silent. And he fell silent too. Only the wind picked up and the rain began to fall. I took a sip from the cup of tea that had been delivered to us, the second serving of Bengal fire tea, this time incredibly hot. And I remained silent.
"Bartek, I say, shut up." No, I didn't say that, only my eyes said it, a long, wide gaze, directed completely in a different direction, indicating I couldn't care less about other matters. I blew into the cup, trying to cool the brew.
What if the rising wind blew the roof off right now? We sit here, sipping, waiting for a miracle, and the wind rips the roof off our heads. Oh, it could have done that, believe me. The place is nice after all. Would a sudden wind just end his career?
Surely not, only the current owner would get to work and repair the damage. The teahouse would continue as before. That's for sure. Well, OF COURSE IT IS! You have to try, because eventually you'll have to make up for it in the future anyway. My eyes lit up. A flash of light flashed somewhere outside the window, though I couldn't see it, but I could feel it.
"And if you fuck up, you'll work twice or three times harder later, you'll work like a horse to make up for it! Oh, and that's your destiny," I said, growing louder and louder, leaning toward the astonished Bartek.
I was calm.
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Now I'm walking with my hands folded behind my back. OMITTED. I'm wandering around the cathedral. The sun is beautiful, and the sun is in people. Just not in me. Our wedding was supposed to be tomorrow.
"Oh Jesus," I thought, "how am I going to make up for this now?"
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