the colour of tears

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/I got this idea from a website called Window Swap but I don't exactly remember which window so I've tried to replace it with a reasonable picture. anyways enjoy!/

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I open a window to a colourful world. Pastel coloured Victorian buildings peek out at me through the bars of aluminium and glass. Green, blue, pink, orange, yellow. Near the green building, there is a green light, flashing rapidly and rhythmically like the beat of a drum or the sound of a heartbeat.

Nothing moves except an idle car inching by or the occasional pedestrian, strolling by without a care in the world. I find myself dreaming of a simpler world. How glorious it would be if it was always this tranquil outside. The only sounds would be the sound of the breeze, caressing the leaves of the trees and the echoing sounds of your thoughts.

Suddenly, the sound of a siren approaches in the distance, shattering the silence of this sleepy neighbourhood. I picture the unpleasant event that must have taken place; a man had been mugged and all that was left of his possessions was a single picture of his wife and children. I place my hands on either side of the window, cool edges gripping my hand and I feel my face flush at the sudden chill. I stare out the window again, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of unanticipated sadness. It was sad to think that all of this would wash away. The spotless coat of the buildings would gradually be chipped away by rain, the windows would be stained with age and the curtains would weep tears of silver as they are torn down and replaced. The buildings held a sense of wonder. There were organised as any respectable neighbourhood was; straight rigid structures that loomed towards the sky in an effort to feel the rays of sunlight on their chimneys. The buildings were lonely, the needed to be loved, just any any other being.

They were nothing special yet they were everything extraordinary.

I can smell them now, the blooming of summertime as clouds roll over head. The air held a scent of poetry, undying confessions of love and bitter coffee. It stung me and I drew my eyes away from the window, feeling nauseated but strangely alive.

There is a man down below, walking to his car. I imagine what it would be like if I were him. His red Toyota is parked right under my line of sight and as he turns, he stares up at me. Only for a moment. Then it is gone and he is off again, sauntering across the street. I felt something but I don't know what it was.

I was snapped out of my thoughts as I hear the tolling of a bell and my mind wonders back to school. The lunch bell which liberated me from school. The single thing I remember is Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina and the quote 'He stepped down, trying not to look long at her. As if she were the sun. Yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.' It had never ceased to amaze me. It was beautiful and heartbreaking, sorrowful yet sweet. Some things are not meant to be seen, they must be felt with the heart.

I observe the sun peaking out from behind one of the many clouds in the distance. Oh Sun, how joyful you must be; you are the creator of all and yet you have the power to destroy.

Humans were born to do both. 

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photo credits : Window Swap

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