The feeling emanating from the happiness of others, is not equivalent to any physical or spiritual mortal ecstasy, and only goodness emanating from the heart is able to reach any place and any heart I will mention it, and remember this day, this day is ours, and I and he is hers alone, and she and he are mine alone, and love is ours .
Those were the words that found their place among the scattered letters on the night of the twenty-sixth of October, at the second and fifteen cigarettes, a restaurant on the corner, sitting alone contemplating the color of the window glass, as it passed for the second time in a row in front of the same window, I pretended that I was surprised when I saw it I tried to deceive my mind that I did not intend to sit in the same chair in front of the same window for two weeks on a daily basis, waiting for her to come, I remember that scene well, the rain dancing slowly, her short gray coat, a scarf the color of delicious wine embracing her ivory neck like a child seeking safety in his mother's breast, an umbrella She waves in the wind, and I sit proudly convincing myself that one day we will walk together in the rain. October, that rain that falls on my memory with all kinds of memories. He whipped a heart that used to whisper her name every night and fell asleep.
Two years have passed since a stormy October night. Calm resounded in nothingness. A candle lit on the kitchen table. I sang to the tune of “One Thousand and One Nights” while I prepared dinner for myself. Everyone was asleep, dreaming, except for a war pilot who had a bad evening, so he chose to go out for a tour over the city. The sound of the plane is moving away little by little, I don't care about it, we are used to fiery rain falling throughout the seasons, I finish preparing food forgetting what I have heard, I turn on the radio, the sound of thunder suddenly resounds, the announcer gasps; To cover the news and precede other broadcasts. I am curious, as always, about the damage caused by the event. It seems that that pilot was teasing me that night. I hear preliminary news of targeting a building next to the café in which I used to sit. A feeling of resentment overwhelms me. So where will I drink my coffee tomorrow evening?! The radio continues broadcasting the national anthems until it gets confirmed information about the targeting. I finish eating, I reach out to turn off the radio in order to go to sleep, the curiosity that gripped me when I heard the radio broadcast again with urgent news, I wait a bit, the announcer's voice again, a number of injuries, a number of martyrs, the raindrops falling on the ground were colored with blood, The reporter is waiting to verify the names of the martyrs again. I am waiting too. Five seconds and the speaker comes back, mentions the address in detail, I remember her address, he mentions the name of the family, I remember her family, he mentions the names of the martyrs, announcing the war of memories, five letters that brought me to my knees. It's raining hard, but this time from my eyes.
Read also:A dialogue between the sun and the moonSince then, that window has been smashed, the café has been closed, all my dreams have been drenched in rain, and the pilot has returned, having improved his mood a bit.
