I just remained there, sitting at a high table in the coffee-shop window, looking outside at all the people that were busy living their lives, whichever those might be.
A tall man in a suit rushing through the crowd, late for a meeting, a kid cruising on a skateboard, one young couple kissing at a stoplight, a dancer performing for coins at the corner, a police officer whistling anxiously in the intersection, a woman holding her child…
The more I looked, the more I realized that in each of them I was seeing a little piece of myself at one point or the other in my life. The realization was strange but it felt good to see a familiar detail, an annoying reality, a childish mistake. I missed that…looking at myself, even if in a somewhat twisted way.
It seems that time isn’t what it was anymore. We’re constantly running, speeding or rushing through the days, the months, the years…and the time for introspection is always postponed or underestimated.
During the week, we barely survive, crawling from Monday morning until we stand tall, full of energy on a Friday evening, living the weekend as if those are our last days on earth. We spare little time for us. Maybe a few minutes on a Sunday evening, when we think with melancholy about the past two days.
The world has changed…and I have changed with it many times. Probably with each bucket of five years came a different man with it.
I see it in the eyes of the friends that I learned to love too. Their eyes seem older in one light, younger in the other and I know it’s not the age that changed them…it’s the experience that left one more shade in them with every passing moment…light green, dark blue, amber red…
If I would believe in souls, I would be confident that the eyes always tell the truth about a person. Probably that’s why I seldom look closely in the mirror.
“The eyes, Chico. They never lie.”