Into the flame.
Clandestine whispers. A look so tender. The well-placed dimples on her rosy cheeks. Furtive glances. Arm in arm, hand in hand. The colourful shopping bags sitting forlornly on the ground. Flapping flags on poles. Another taxi rolling into the driveway. His appreciative nod to the waitress who brought him his three-tier high tea set. A bus zipping by in blurs of green and white. Screaming toddler demanding the attention of all and sundry. The receptionist’s tired smile as she greets her two new guests. Muted voices from the table next to ours. The hustle and bustle of a busy city. Locking eyes and looking away.
I have come to realise that one of my favourite pastimes include people-watching. It is strangely comforting and – to a certain extent – even therapeutic, to see others living their everyday lives; ones that are perhaps as worn and weary as that of ours. We can be absolute strangers, completely nameless and entirely oblivious to each other’s existence, and yet there lies still the uncanny ability for us to willingly understand their doubtful misgivings of the past, openly relate to their hopes and fears of the here and now, and silently share their soaring dreams of times to come.
It may not be pure balm to our souls, but it might just make you look forward to witnessing the dawn of another tomorrow.
But I do not get to do this often enough. Maybe that is why I have been off my rocker lately.
What’s the difference between what this is and what it was?