It scared me that we were growing up. Not because of the aging skin lines or the dog race we were in, chasing the bunny, but because of the discontent resonance that had sneakingly leaked amongst us recently.
We had stopped taking pictures. Recent stories were not worth documenting and whenever we needed a good laugh, we pitched a story from the past.

E.Y.

I couldn't see.

I couldn't see it in their eyes: the people who wrote love songs as if the emotions were dripping like blood from their fingers.
I couldn't see it in their actions: the people who would break all boundaries because every moment was sacred when it was with you.

E.Y

Stage dust

"Ah I love these shoes! She admires her newly bought shoes one more time in the mirror and slams the door behind her.
Before leaving the apartment, she was convinced that she looked great but her confidence was gradually reducing as she was approaching the theatre.

She took a deep breath as she made it through the foyer and followed the noises to find the auditorium. There were tapping of shoes on parquet floor, people instructing where to stand and the sound of determination.

Framed by the door opening, she was afraid of breaking the noise. The energy density inside was overwhelming, almost bursting outside the auditorium.

There was something about theatre actors: They were penniless sophisticated creatures that always had a certain glow to them, almost like a halo. It didn't matter where they were, it always followed them.

Suddenly she felt scruffy and ashamed of her shoes.

On the stage there was a young woman down on her knees, crying out loud and begging for forgiveness to another woman who had turned her back against her, looking outside a window.
Forgiveness she thought. If only saying sorry would make things right. The grudge never disappears.
Then there was him, standing in the corner. She was trying to understand what his role was. Was he a father, a son or maybe a lover?

How long had she known him? She was only in the beginning of her teens when he was doing kissing scenes in tv series. Even her mother would turn the tv towards the kitchen counter when he was on.

One day he completely disappeared from the tv screens. Rumours said that he had become broke and simply met the grim reality of showbiz. The latter was confirmed on a talk show he had attended 3 weeks ago, adding that he had been busy with theatre the last decade. He had also divorced his wife and was now living on his own.
On his own she thought. Him, on his own.

So he had been hiding behind the theatre curtain all these years. Enough time to swallow stage dust all right. He had added a few extra wrinkles on his forehead and was a little gray around the temples. Apart from that, he was still the same being that would make her dream that anything was possible.

"Uhm, hello?" called a voice from the forestage. She turned her head towards the voice to be met by a woman with a notepad in her hand.
"I'm sorry but this is a closed rehearsal. You can't be here," the woman said.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied. Only to be met by full attention from the actors on the stage. He too, had her full attention, He looked almost worried about her, as if she was insane. She was so embarrassed that she goofyly made out the room and shut the door behind. Her heart pounding and her face reddened.

She was disappointed in herself. It had taken her 3 weeks to man up and pay the visit and 3 minutes to make a fool out of herself and walk out.

Heading home, she was taking out her frustration on every lose stone she stumpled upon, wearing out the soles of her shoes.

E.Y.

It's OK.

It's OK; always watching the game from the sideline, holding your breath each time the whistle blows.
You may never be given the chance, but you owe it to yourself, simply because you're filling a space, to try to hang in there.

E.Y

The river is never the same.

For each time she put on a sad face they would say 'You have your whole life ahead of you,' but it wasn't the remaining part that she cared for.
If only she could dive back into the past, cut and paste all the empty sequences.

This was only a self-deception; she knew she couldn't step into the same river twice.

E.Y.

Crash Boom Bang

"Have I met you before? You look very familiar" he said when she was about to take a sip of her coffee.
"You might have, I work on the 7th floor."
As for you, you're the busdriver, the guy I bump into on the street, the guy who sells me bagels and the guy who holds the door for me when I have no free hands.

He knew her name, but was having a hard time finding her on Outlook. He searched on Facebook over and over but was without luck since he didn't know her last name. There were 10000 Rachels. Where would he start and if he did find her, what would he say?

Eric, she thought. Eric Wieber. He had 5 different suits, 8 ties and somewhere between 7-10 shirts. Every time he passed her his Acqua Di Gio scent would make her heart miss a beat and run to the balcony on the 8th floor to grab some fresh air.

That morning, the office was unusually quiet, almost abandoned. Had she missed a fire drill or something? The echoing sound of her heels seemed remarkably louder than usual while walking towards the coffee machine. She wasn't a morning person and no one could see her smile before 9am and a cup of coffee.
She pressed the button for an americano when all of a sudden,the hair on her back raised. She hadn't noticed the footsteps behind her until the she felt the scent, it had surrounded her. Damn you GIO. The balcony was so far away at this point.

She pretended to be cool as she could hear him behind her,clearing his throat for a conversation.

Crash, boom, bang!

E.Y.