Nadia Part Four

THE ENTRANCE

Concrete plain, massive, grey, and in the middle an opening: a rotating entrance, people mingle at its mouth, swinging in and out. We met there, the day or should I more accurately state: the evening, at dusk during our setting sun.

You looked very good against the mortar, glowing, a flowered weed climbing through the cracks: majestic, natural and trampled. Against the black and white hues of suits and dress suits, the original costume of the modern slave: distinct and plain, a matching attitude apathetically clothed. We stood staring into the void producing the mediocrity, wondering if we too, were like them? I thought yes, but you, you were different. It was you who cracked the concrete ways of my life; it was you who would.