|Man in a Red T-shirt (2012) - Paul Wistanley |
6.35pm. The moon started peeking from the clouds. No star at all. The night was quite hot. Probably because all those busy kids around us. We kept talking. It was a story about a good book and the amazing woman who got it written. Her bravery and her beautiful words.
6.40pm. A silhouette walking in the middle of the dark. Not that it was strange. There were so many silhouettes. Felt like all the lost kids from Neverland lost their shadows. People kept walking around in the dark, trying to get the work done. Decorations for some event I didn't even know, I guess.
6.43pm. My gaze was stuck upon that one silhouette. All dark but somehow I knew who it was. My friend's voice was no longer my priority. The silhouette took all my attention. It gave me a feeling I couldn't name. Mixed of happiness, sadness, hope, love, fear, and envious.
6.45pm. I knew who it was. It was all dark but I knew. I just knew. The way he walked, the way he moved his head when he talked, the way he held a cigarette between his pointed finger and middle finger of his right hand before finally sucked it deeply and blew the grey smoke to the left side, the way he threw his head back while laughing. I knew who it was. If he weren't too busy talking to that short girl with ponytail, he would recognize me. I sat under a bright lamp. With a light skinned girl with a cute smile.
6.50pm. I tried to ignore the silhouette, tried to concentrate to what my friend were saying. The silhouette were getting bigger, he was walking closer. When the light touched his body, I knew that I was right. It was him. With a t-shirt in a color of blood and jeans in a color of night. A pair of black eyes he owned met my set of dark brown eyes. The sight told stories. Stories that weren't mean to told, at least not aloud. The sight delivered feelings. Feelings with no name. But we didn't need names. All they do just being meaningless sounds when you say it.
6.51pm. He smiled. It was one beautiful smile. His lips made a little curve and his right eyebrow raised a bit. I smiled. I didn't know if my smile even half beautiful as his. We gave each other a simple hello. I could tell that he was tired. He could tell what kind of stuff I would like. I could tell what kind of dreams come to his sleep at night.
6.54pm. We finished small talk. It was short conversation. The kind of conversation that is gonna buried in time and no one care enough to remember. But we're going to have the whole time in the world when the time is right. We could talk about things. Even we could just sit there and no word needs to be spoken. We could feel those feelings. The feelings with no name. Maybe we're gonna laugh out loud and share a piece of memory in the dream city.
The girl with light skin and cute smile knew she shouldn't talk anything about the one that just passed by. Maybe she had no idea. But I bet she just knew me way too well.
This is not a love story, because I don't feel love. This is not a sad story, because no tears should appear in each eye we owned. This is not a story with happy end, because I don't know how it's gonna end. This is just a story about a bunch of feelings. Feelings with no name. Why name feelings we don't recognize? Names only make meaningless sounds when it spoken.