Raindrops

i: Observation

She went to the coffee shop every other day. She was never seen with anyone else. I never heard her talk. I could tell what weather she loved (rainy and cloudy) because she would open the door with a spring in her step and smile on her face. Occasionally, she'd run out of her flat and sprint down the streets of London. She carried a leather journal with her whenever she left.

Some would call this stalking. I prefer the term 'observing.' Because that's what I'm doing. You try being so sad that you refuse to leave the flat, making your housemate yell at you in frustration.

Cause that's what my life was.

I was in the midst of a year long existential crisis, and it was not fun.

ex-ist-en-tial crisis (noun)

An existential crisis is a moment at which an individual questions the very foundations of their life: whether this life has any meaning, purpose, or value. This issue of the meaning and purpose of existence is the topic of the philosophical school of existentialism. 

Basically my life was one giant existential crisis for one entire year.

I like to call it the lost year. The year that I did nothing but sit on on our little window seat, studying the people that walked by. I would only get up to use the toilet, get a bite to eat, or maybe go to my bed in the back of the flat.

I never really cared about anyone else.

Actually, that's a lie. I cared about my flatmate, Josh and I cared about my sister, who I hadn't heard from in two months, but I knew she would come 'round one day.

I would stare out my pathetic window seat, making up stories about the people that passed by. I wondered what happened in their life. Where they were heading.

I never let them deal with anything in my head. I pretended everyone had a happy ending. I thought that if I couldn't have a happy ending, then someone should. I always let them have the life of their dreams (well the dreams that I'd make up) and let them lead the best life anyone could have.

No one really stuck with my stories, though. All my neighbours got up for work early in the morning, and came back late at night. Nothing really exciting.

That is, everyone but her.

She fascinated me.

The way she hadn't a schedule and routine for every day. The way that she was more care-free.

She usually left her flat between 11:00 and 12:00, which was when I was actually wide awake, compared to when I'd jerk awake at the pounding of adult's feet in the flat above.

I could tell her footsteps through the hallway from anyone else's. Hers were short and quick, but also tired and dragging. Sometimes she hummed something while she'd walk through the halls. And occasionally I'd know what song she would be singing, and I'd hum along.

She carried a leather notebook with her whenever she left the building in a light brown, leather messenger bag. She wore dark boots everyday. Her hair was almost always down.

She had a camera strung around her neck, bumping against her chest in a rhythm.

I've only seen her smile once, even though I've known her for five years now. It was beautiful. It was like warm sunshine, and fresh cotton sheets. It made me feel like the sun had come out after a terribly long storm. But the storm soon came back, thunder crashing my world down, and lightning making an impression in my head.

The storm hasn't stopped since, making me feel cloudy inside.

I hadn't seen the sunshine in years.

And I wanted it so badly.

I felt like I knew everything about her, and every aspect of her being.

But, boy was I wrong.

I'd known her for five years.

                                And I didn't even know her name.