Moments

It's not red, not red as in hatred, anger or failure. Not the red that crawls up your spine and hides in the back of your head, whispering with the voice of fear to your mind. No. It's another kind of red. Red as in the details, no one else sees. Red like the walls of the great grand canyon, reaching as far and deep as the eye only could allow you to see. I see red, as in secretly blushing behind the big red curtains. Red as in the roses, you receive from your dearest. It's the red of lips speaking the most beautiful words that goes directly through the red veins back to the red heart. It's red as the reflection of glowing fire from a pair of glass clear, gleaming eyes. Red is the first color of the rainbow, or perhaps, is it the last?

It doesn't stop although, it doesn't really stay. It's not caution, yet, maybe, it's not always the only right way.

The song from the radio flows out, drowning the car, filling it with it's last tones of melodies.

The people from the sideway turns and starts walking slowly. They have been waiting, but now it's their time to go. They pull themselves forward. But not too slow, because we're always in a somewhat hurry. Always having a somewhat worry. A young girl takes her first step towards the other side. Bouncy hair flying, just like the light summer breeze likes it to. I think the wind likes her. She's turning. I can see her face, so precious, vibrant and livefull. A smile appears on her face, turning up the corners of her mouth. She has those red lips. I can't see, but I suppose she's talking to someone on the phone, someone worthy of that smile. Dimples on her cheeks… I want her jacket.

The white stripes on the asphalt are shining in a bright titanium white. Like piano tunes, playing a melody. Playing the melody that was created only for you, that was only meant to be your's to hear. That's only yours to keep.

A little kid is jumping from stripe to stripe, tune to tune. Not touching the black asphalt. His mother takes his hand, trying to drag him forward. She's afraid they won't cross the street in time. I wonder where they're going. In the left hand, a little teddy bear hangs from the little boy´s hand. It's worn out and the colour that once seemed to be white is now more greyish. You can see very clearly that it's an item of sentimental value. They're always the most expensive. Irreplaceable. He holds on to it. Then in one turn, it slips from his little fingers, falling, slowly to the ground. yet not too slow. Bouncing a couple of times before laying completely still. I feel the fall through my whole body. He turns around.

The red is dimming out, transforming. Slowly melting down, before turning into yellow. Yellow for me, yellow for him. Yellow for everyone.

And I wonder if everyone else also sees that yellow, just like I do. Or am I only seeing my kind of yellow? Does yellow look different for all the other people around me?

Not yellow as in sunset. Yellow. As in sunrise. Not yellow as a sour lemon, it's more like the sweetest banana or the sea salty mango, dipped in the wild ocean. You could describe it in a million different ways, and you would never really get it right. The nearest you could come is the color of soon, the color of promise. The promise of a hot summer after the grey, cold winter.

It's yellow as the bright shining star, not the one who will fall. No. The one that warms our skin and keeps our minds and hearts alive, with a golden yellow shine.

The rays are reaching everywhere. Spreading millions of sequins all over the black asphalt, uncovering the hidden tunes. Sequins all over me. Making me squeeze my eyes. The song dies out, making it all goes quiet, it all goes still. It's an awaitening, for the next song. And you have no clue, no clue which words and melodies will fill the empty, still space, in just a beat, a heartbeat.

The little boy's fingers let's go of his mothers hand. They're halfway through, they would make it just in time. If it wasn't for. If it wasn't for the boy taking big steps in the opposite direction. The mother turns, follows. He bents down to pick up the little teddy bear.

The young girl is already at the other side. I think, just for a second, or maybe a half. If she saw me, when she walked past.

The boy runs up to the sideway, teddy in hand. His mother just behind him.

The sun shifts, slowly retreats, I can finally open my eyes all the way again. My hands are clutching the wheel. It's time. Yellow is the color of soon, yellow is the color of almost.

The tones from the radio starts playing. A new song.

Sometimes, you realize, you're going to miss a moment, even before it's disappeared.

And you don't want it. But at one point, the green light flashes. Flashes, only for you.

And the next moment, it's all gone. I knew it, even before it slipped. The moments had passed, like sand corns between fingers. The seconds were too few. The colors will always be the same, the melody will too, but not like it used too. Because there'll always be a change. Or maybe a few.

Every day seems like the previous.

Somewhat tedious.

There's only that much seconds, that every little one will be unique.

There's these special moments, like dimples on a smiling cheek.

They come back, reaching our heads, playing in our minds.

They don't come in circles, they just appear in minds.

Everyone has their own memories.

Everyone plays different tunes,

There's no way of catching a deja vu.

That's life,

That's me,

That's you.