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.
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