NUMB

Troye felt angry as he got off the train. White was everywhere. Frosty winter wind penetrated to the bones, all his body and his mind. Troye felt more alone than angry. He is alone here, in this huge city “full of new opportunities”. He frowned buried in the gate of his light threadbare coat and he was starting to wade through a crowd.  

The only thing he was dreaming about at that moment was a cup of good hot coffee, so he decided to go to cafeteria. Troye popped into the first café to order expensive heated drink, and he spent his last money. However, he was not thinking about the future, he was just glad. He will never return back, to the sadness and pain, no. He left it in the past. He is sure.  

Troye was sitting on the cozy sofa and watching through a panoramic window. Throng. Men, women, kids. They were running somewhere, to somebody. They fell, they laughed and they stood up. They smiled and they frowned. So different and so origin.  

Snow. Huge snowflakes were circling in the cold air covering the ground and calling children’s admiration and adults’ displeasure.  

Music. Soft sounding blues was warming Troye’s soul. Then he closed his eyes. And…Oh no… He returned back. To the sea, to the red sunset. Light fresh breeze was blowing his face, tickling him, playing with his fair hair. Orange warm rays caressing his cheeks, leaving them kisses, which people used to call freckles. The smell of the coffee was replaced by marine. In a second Troye will hear the surf and above it the free cry of seagulls. Suddenly, Troye heard something else. He heard a voice, painfully familiar voice:  

– “In heaven, all they talk about is the ocean. How gorgeously beautiful it is. And all the sunsets that they saw. How you could feel the sun lose its strength. And how the cool water splashed forward and only fire left was the fire in their souls” – he said softly. *  

Troye dramatically opened his weary and green, like two emeralds, eyes. He was smiling and the lonely tear rolled down his warm cheek.  

Café. Coffee. Blues. Window. Crowd.  

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*Quote from ‘Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door’