The Man With A Blue Shirt

I crane my neck trying to peek through the window. Ahh... it’s not a heavy rain but the sounds of water tapping on the glass, somehow filling me with a sense of calmness and peace. 

At the exact same moment, I saw him strolling along the beach, his bare feet kicking the sand, the wind’s breath breezing through his blue shirt, seemingly not caring about his surroundings. He looks like he’s in his own bubble. His own thoughts.

 

Abruptly, the wind took his cap away and he laughed, trying to catch it. Who is he? dancing gracefully in the rain, I watch with amusement and envy. He seems so free, living his life so wildly.

 

My eyes follow every gesture he makes. He tries to mimic some movements with his fingers, so slowly, as if he is playing an instrument... is it a guitar? I guess... is he an artist?

 

What is the limitation of freedom? When you are so care-free and living your life with no boundaries.

 

I can smell the rain, I can hear the sound of the waves, I can see the colour of the rocks. I never get tired of it, and it makes me long for home. 

I close my eyes imagining that it is me dancing in the rain, touching the sand with my little fingers, feeling each drop of water on my face, without worry of anything in the world. “The man in the blue shirt, I wish i were you!” I mutter to myself.

 

I whisper back “That couldn’t be me, I could never be that brave, I can’t even move my feet.” I just watch hopelessly, wondering if I could ever take that first step. That first kick.

 

Wondering if I could be that happy.