I stuck my nose out of the window. I sniffed. It smelled like summer.
I thought, how do the old women live, the ones who walk under my windows, tapping their canes with each step?
For them, love is just as necessary. They need someone to hold them. They are so alone.
They carry within them a bouquet of ailments, a ton of concrete memories, judgment, and pain.
Why them, and not tenderness, joy, affection, and love? Because I look into their eyes…
A cat with a broken paw pulled herself up onto the sidewalk with her healthy legs and limped toward a bench. On the bench sat an old man, and with words of pity, he coaxed the little animal. The muscular cat pushed off the ground with three legs, jumped onto the old man’s lap, and began rubbing her dirty head against his hand, which was dressed in a warm mitten. It seemed to me that he didn’t see her. Though, he did feel sorry for the cat’s paw. I felt that his eyes were looking ahead, through the world, somewhere into nothingness… He radiated light. I wanted to approach him and hug him. He would have thought I was crazy.
Sometimes, I want to approach people and hug them. Not because I need to hug someone. I see a person, and I feel them. I could be wrong, but I think I can sense what they are going through at that moment… I feel like there is so much pain in people. It’s often hard for them. And then, I just want to hug them, hold them in my arms, warm them… if only for a moment, so they could feel a little better. It’s a shame that this isn’t something we do…
I thought that one day, I would be that old woman.
What will I carry inside me?
Three small graves—of my Love, Tenderness, and Joy?
Or three small golden flames?
I know what pain is. Pain of the heart and soul. If other people feel the same pain, the same sorrow as I do, then I would want to do something to ease their burden.
Why didn’t I do this before…