The modest sky flashed up the same old sombre sun engaged in hiding its dominance across my windowsill. Similar day, another time. When my tanned flesh and bones deluded themselves to retire from the soft cosy bed, it was already afternoon. The banana leaves outside were rejoicing at my awakening. The spare leaves formed two saggy ears and it almost looked like an innocent goat. I pulled myself out amid the comfort of my balcony. It’s just me, my huge black-framed spectacles and Murakami.
Identical day, another companion.
What if we were living in a black-and-white fictitious world? A coming-of-age marvel! A world of grey and outworn imaginations! What if everyone is handed a pair of grey sunglasses branded as ‘grey glasses for bright-hearted people’? I’ve always wanted to breathe a puff of antiquated air and live in monochromatic extravagance. Crestfallen suits and charming black roses. All the floating colours are tiring my daily vocations. So many choices. Too many shades. Withdrawn hearts.
Blurry fires and dark hazes. Long cigarettes and luscious courtesies.
‘Eyes mark the shape of the city’, Murakami teased, scanning my thoughts with his twisted sense of humour. Another day knocked down my shady existence. The world better gets ready in tawdry disguise for an old-fashioned lady in black. Or white, possibly. History revisits its intricate route, struggling to arouse grey curiosity into human alleys.
White seduces me with its cryptic claws. Black tears me down like a grieving widow with no further vision.
There’s an in-between heaven. No way back.