I draped my cloak over my shoulder. It will end today, I am certain. She said she liked this cloak on me, something about it being dark enough to give a nice contrast to my otherwise disillusioning, pale skin. Still disillusioning, but in a good way. Would I still be given the same thought if I looked different?
You know how they say that everything happens for a reason, and in the end it is always okay? I do believe in that, but it doesn’t give me as much comfort as I would want. I am a believer nevertheless, and my morals have provided me with steady companionship when people haven’t. You judge too harshly, mon trésor. No, I won’t let this get to me today. This feels like a good day, and tomorrow will be better.
“Monsieur Robin, where have we reached in this world’s race?” Romanoff’s usual greeting broke my line of desperate thought as I entered his bookshop on the corner of Rochester and Fifth. It was a strange name for a street but then the whole town was strange. It held about as much charm as a dark alley did. Which is what it was. Narrow passageways coursed through the entire town. There wasn’t enough space for a vehicle, so that led to little pollution, but there was still an uncanny amount of dust everywhere. And no matter how many times a day the streets were cleaned, there was still an unearthly settling of dust where the ground met the walls. The Square was the largest open area of the town. It is more of a circle-shaped area than a square, but then that is the least bizarre characteristic about Gratia.
“Still running, my friend,” I replied with a weary smile. Didn’t know where to, but I was running. It is said that if you do not know where you are going, then any and all amount of running will lead you nowhere. That was the constant state of my mind, though. I was ready to dash off anywhere and everywhere. Restlessness came very easily. I refocused my attention on my friend Romanoff and smiled, “I’ve run out of blank paper.”
Click. I entered my apartment. It was the top floor in one of the oldest buildings in the town. The gallery opened to the north giving me a bird’s eye view of the hills and river. On clear days which came often to this city of alleys, light would graciously flood my apartment and I would not have anything more to ask for. I put on a kettle for tea, settled onto my study table, took out a book with a mahogany, leather cover from the top drawer, and wrote:
Almost immediately, writing appeared underneath mine.
Hello, how will we be spending today?
Time to write my heart out.