a moment..
I had a strange experience on the way to work today..
I was walking along toward my building, floating in-amongst a school of corporate sharks along a busy footpath. I was surrounded by such smells and sights as one can only know when in the middle of a city; rich perfumes, false laughter, creases on trousers you could slice an orange open with. A woman in the periphery of my vision lit a cigarette, and another ahead of me dropped a pearl bracelet. The clip-clop of pumps and the fumes of traffic asailed my senses.
In this environment I tend to just tune out. I let my mind and eyes relax and simply think about other things. One hand clutches my bag tightly, the other swings by my side carelessly.
This morning, though, something strange jolted me out of my daze.
My swinging hand slipped into the swinging hand of the woman behind me. We didn't just bump hands, we actually - albeit briefly - held hands. Her fingers were smooth and soft, a subtle warmth beneath the cooler skin. A moment of sudden intimacy, and then both our hands swung out, and it was over. I couldn't turn around to look at her, but my moment of awkwardness was quickly relieved. She charged past me and took off into the crowd, so I only ever glimpsed the back of her frizzy, brown hair.
My fingers still tingled with the memory of her touch. We will probably never meet again, and I don't think we'd recognise one another if we did. But we shared that intimacy, that genuine human connection. More than a smile. More than a wave. More than a sentence enquiring after each other's health.
And to me, it was beautiful.
I was walking along toward my building, floating in-amongst a school of corporate sharks along a busy footpath. I was surrounded by such smells and sights as one can only know when in the middle of a city; rich perfumes, false laughter, creases on trousers you could slice an orange open with. A woman in the periphery of my vision lit a cigarette, and another ahead of me dropped a pearl bracelet. The clip-clop of pumps and the fumes of traffic asailed my senses.
In this environment I tend to just tune out. I let my mind and eyes relax and simply think about other things. One hand clutches my bag tightly, the other swings by my side carelessly.
This morning, though, something strange jolted me out of my daze.
My swinging hand slipped into the swinging hand of the woman behind me. We didn't just bump hands, we actually - albeit briefly - held hands. Her fingers were smooth and soft, a subtle warmth beneath the cooler skin. A moment of sudden intimacy, and then both our hands swung out, and it was over. I couldn't turn around to look at her, but my moment of awkwardness was quickly relieved. She charged past me and took off into the crowd, so I only ever glimpsed the back of her frizzy, brown hair.
My fingers still tingled with the memory of her touch. We will probably never meet again, and I don't think we'd recognise one another if we did. But we shared that intimacy, that genuine human connection. More than a smile. More than a wave. More than a sentence enquiring after each other's health.
And to me, it was beautiful.