Up and up the tortuous flights. The stairs began making slightly soft thuds. People ran up and shoved each other in the process. Why do they run up? Isn’t it more tiring? They look like olympic runners who set their thirsty eyes on the finish line, as those of a wild predator pursuing its prey. Only, these runners won’t receive any sort of prize or prey, so why rush? Others walk up the stairs like that one car on the freeway. You know, that one car that goes 30 under the limit and take their sweet time, but don’t let others pass them? Yup, they are that one car. I look down to keep track of my steps. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right. As I look down, I see different flashes of shoes. Some are bright bluebell flowers, that have white roots which entangled each other the way branches would do in trees, and is finished off with a bow. Other shoes were musty and its once vivacious color was drained down into sadness. Yellow crust formed from the rubber band and up, which slowly began to spread. All of these colors and brands whirled around me in a breeze. But one catches my eye. Cherry red rosettes, that blush with pride, and left with a passion. They remind me of you. When you would strutt these very same stairs with your crimson blood fiery shoes that resembled that of a fine ruby. My mind drifted into a hazy daze to the point that I didn’t realize I was at the top. As I saunter down into the black endless tunnel of shadows, the corner of my eyes see couples who take the shadows into a cloak to cover the desire they feel for each other. While others perfume themselves. Many of the girls smelled like fresh cherry blossoms that came out to bloom in the spring. While a few smell of foggy water from those of a hidden swamp, where wild strange creatures came out. From all the different scents, my nose came across a sweet red fume. My heart began to raise in hope. The scent was like an anesthesia that made my feet feel dizzy. That’s when I realize the once familiar scent, was the kind of scent you had. As I continued my way, I remember your details. Your hair looked as if the night sky covered it with its pitch black silk blanket. Your eyes were given ink droplets and were filled with soft marble. All these memories of you slowly crawled back into my mind, where they will stay hidden, like a chest filled with luxurious treasures buried in a deserted island. And that’s when I began to think, will we ever cross paths again?
Memories of the 500 Buildings
February 5, 2018