my smile

Smile (in shanghai)

It has been a while that I am feeling a sort of uneasiness in my heart and soul

It all started from a painting I saw in an art gallery on an unplanned visit to a small bookshop in a gloomy evening when even raindrops refused to roll down the faces of broken hearted.

I was not particularly interested in leaving my flat. I had been in a state of melancholy all day and the idea of leaving the flat did not appeal to me.

A knock at the door and the abnormally warm and friendly voice of a neighbor whom I had not seem for weeks forced me into accepting to pick up an item from the small bookshop a few blocks away.

By the time I set my foot on the well-worn face of the ally the sky had collected all her tears and was letting everyone know that she was not happy.

I was dressed in my usual and had not given any consideration to the tantrum of the clouds or the tearful eyes looking down at me.

Raindrops hit me with a vengeance and all I could do was to step faster on the running waters that were clearly attempting to dodge my steps.

The bookshop was closed that is what the sign hanging on the door announced.

Rain with the help of the cold wind that was trying to secure a place between the raindrops pressed harder against my shivering body.

I pushed against the bookshop's door expecting nothing.

The sound of an old door greeting a stranger and its hesitant motion disappointed me, as I was not expecting to enter the bookshop.

By the time I moved the whole of my body into the small space of the shop, an old man appeared at the front of some stairs leading to the shop's basement.

The uneven smile on his face and his motion inviting me to follow him spoke of his expectation of my arrival at that day, that hour, and that very moment.

The rapid return of the door to its station and standing guard against intrusion of the elements began a cycle. A cycle in which my body was transferred from the chaos of the outside to the order of the inside.

The bookshop stood alone holding rows and columns of books allowing only a few rays of light to visit crevasses of the shop.

The serenity and peace that seemed to be trapped between the rows and columns of the books did not feel at ease.

The old man still keeping his crocked smile motioned again, inviting me to follow him. I did so, down the stairs into what I assumed to be the basement of the bookshop.

The back wall of the basement was filled with paintings of all sorts. A sign declared that this was the Gallery.

The old man vanished somewhere between the rows of books and tired light rays. I could no longer feel that he ever existed.

I began looking at the paintings and felt I had, in a forgotten past, hold the brush by which these paintings were created.

As I moved closer to the wall and the paintings, I saw a nail protruding from the fabric of the wall trying to leave his companionship and a frame devoid of his painting hanging on to her.

It was clear that she did not wish to be there, holding such a heavy burden.

My eyes could not bear to witness the misery of the nail and her unwanted companion. As I blinked I found myself at the darkest corner of the basement.

I saw an isle and a canvas of the nail and the frame

I saw the colors of darkness

Dripping from the wall

And the canvas a mirror

I saw my neighbor looking into me

Penetrating my soul

Her breath engulfing my body

Burning my flesh

I saw her holding an old brush

And a smile,

Crocked

And I looked into the mirror

and I saw the old man

standing with index finger on my lips

And a smile,

Crocked

My shivering body, drenched in raindrops and blanketed by wind could no longer ignore the unhappiness of the sky and the clouds.

I pushed against the bookshop's door expecting to be granted protection.

But the sound of an old door greeting a stranger and its hesitant motion did not come.

And I could not but to carry a crocked smile back to my flat.

It has been a while that I am feeling a sort of uneasiness in my heart and soul and I cannot leave behind a crocked smile I found in a painting on a gloomy evening when even raindrops refused to roll down the face of a broken hearted.