A quiet and rainy weekend came, and I decided to rest my mind by watching a handful of movies in a row. There were no friends around, and I didn’t bother chasing them. I was pretty comfortable with the isolation, and in that very moment I was even glad and tranquilized by the thought I could go with no need of socialization.
This wasn’t the usual rainy afternoon, but rather one of those days when it’s all wet and white, due to a rain mist. It was also cold, and those poor trees exposed to the melancholic setting made me feel some sort of empathy and pity for them. But those who have no option but to be strong, they simply endured.
Down below, along the pavement road darkened because of the rain, cars were all parked, collecting conditioned water drops on their hoods. Apparently no one was willing to leave home, and, from the unfortunate ones passing by, some people were gladly reaching home, and it could be seen by their suddenly slowed stride as they got closer to the building’s gate, as if the last steps of the journey were being counted down with relief.
Here inside it was very comfortable, and because of the whitish world outside, the room had a natural bright illumination. On tv, a French movie everybody has been talking about. A light-hearted story about friendship and prejudice, with witty dialogues and scenes and the amazing French accent I was constantly trying to reproduce.
My mother was around, and the usually lonely and cold apartment with everybody being busy studying in their rooms and keeping the place moderately organized, suddenly felt like true home with the details that mothers keep as their secret. And she decided to prepare a breakfast (and she abandoned the movie, I can’t never understand these habits), the incredible smell of the baking of cake or preparing some steaming coffee. Moments like this can’t happen too often, and they must be remembered for their immense worth.