Friday, September 11, 2009

pretty words

As I've mentioned numerous times, I've been doing a lot of writing lately, working on a story. To warm up, every time I sit down to write I do a ten minute free write in which I pick something as inspiration and then write nonstop for ten minutes about that thing. One of my favourite things to write about are interesting photos I find on Flickr! This little piece was inspired by such a photo (which I now can't find, I'll add the link if I ever see the picture again...).

She stands at the window, watching as he leaves the apartment and walks down the busy morning street. Leaning her back against the wall, her hand pulling the curtains aside, she memorizes the image of him weaving his way down the sidewalk, disappearing into the colourful throngs of people, passing the coffee shop where they’d get their morning coffee, the video store where they rented American movies dubbed in Spanish and subtitled back into English. She keeps watching long after he’s disappeared from view, thinking about how hard it is to be depressed in such a bright, vibrant city. But she knows also that the truth is she doesn’t belong here, she never has. It has always her connection to him that has made this her home, her friends are really his friends, her world is really his. She has been woven into the fabric of his life, and now her thread is slowly unwinding and she isn’t home anymore. This is just the beginning of a goodbye, but a beginning she doesn’t want. It’s useless to argue with herself, though. She knows this isn’t where she should be. She’s finally realizing that, though she thought her real life was just starting when she left behind everything she knew to follow him into this foreign city, in reality she han’t discovered anything that makes her feel any more at home than she did back in Toronto. Madrid is just as confusing, just as solitary, just as foreign. And without him to keep her feet securely on the ground, she feels again the familiar pull of the unknown. That old restlestness pulling at her like a leash.

She pulls on her sneakers and wraps one of his old sweaters around her and heads outside,not following him, heading instead in the other direction. She is going to one of her favourite places in the city, a place she discovered all on her own, without him. A place she’s never brought him. It’s a small little plaza beside a small park where old men and women sit and watch the pigeons. There’s a little fountain in the plaza she likes to sit against, watching the old people as they watch the birds. She heads there now to think and wonders where the wind will blow her this time.



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