flute seller

I have been watching films.


Living, sulking, spending, brooding.

Christmas, New Year.

Comings, and going away. Travelling, being nowhere.

The clamor did not bode well for melodies.

I stayed away from the computer screen. It demanded too much coherence.

I felt flimsy.

This morning, then, there is a tune.

I don’t go to the window to look for the flute-seller.

It is enough that his music reaches me on the 13th floor, despite the insistent growling from the highway.

Maybe someday I’ll meet him on street-level. Maybe I’ll be bold enough to thank him for wandering our streets.

Maybe I’ll say nothing. Maybe he’ll know anyway.