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Short story collection based on the album. |
| Every day, our paths would cross. Her hair would sway as she descended the brightly lit stairs, her attention often drawn to the sunshine pouring through the large panes of glass. Occasionally, she would glance in my direction, acknowledging our shared space with a slight nod. I couldn't help but notice her, her daily transformations from weary eyes and pale skin to a glimmer in her brown eyes on other days. She was always impeccably dressed, a reflection of the latest trends and office fashion. In these moments, I felt a connection, a shared understanding of the daily grind that we both navigated. Before you jump to conclusions, let me clarify. I'm not a stalker, just an ordinary guy with a heightened sense of observation in a shared corridor. Our routines intersect daily, not by design but by the whims of life. It's a shared experience, like ships silently passing at night. I am merely a witness to these fleeting moments, a silent participant in their lives, as the others I pass daily are participants in mine. I've noticed the older gentleman who trudges down the stairs and rushes to the street, never smiles, and mutters with every step about how much he hates his tedious job, yet he carries on relentlessly. There's a young couple with two children who are always in a rush and are so focused on the little ones that they have never acknowledged me. I get it; their young are their priority, just as it should be. But for some reason, I am drawn to this woman I see daily on the staircase. Today, she wore a navy blue dress that accentuated her figure, but the usual spark was absent from her eyes. I'm tempted to break our silent routine and ask if she's alright, even though I know she's not. But how does one initiate such a conversation? Despite our nods of recognition in the stairwell, we've never exchanged a word. I can't recall ever seeing her outside that space. She works days, and I'm confined to the dreaded midnight shift. The thought of the night shift being dreaded by many rouses a smile. Ironically, people don't realize how much working midnights affords me. While most are safely home and tucked away, the city is alive with vibrant light. Traffic moves freely; some nights, it's so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The stores lack people, making it easier to get in and out quickly with everything I need. And did I mention the higher wage I get paid? Just for coming in after dark. Who wouldn't love that? And yet, people think the night shift is a hardship, and there are many just like me. As I make my way home, I can't help but wonder about the lady I pass every day. I hope to see that spark return to her eyes. Her look of wonder always warms my heart and makes it easier to drift off to sleep. Would it be too much to share these thoughts with her? Could it be that she finds comfort in our daily encounters, too, and our shared space also comforts her? It is our routine. It's possible, but I doubt it. I'm just a guy who enjoys the simple act of passing a girl on the stairs. Anticipation pushes me closer to my building, ready to catch that reassuring glimpse. I reach for the door, open it, and reach the stairwell as the echoing taps of footsteps draw near. I recognize her footfalls and manage a smile. She's here. I'm here. As we pass each other again, I feel a pang of disappointment. No spark today. I sigh and continue forward, but the desire for connection lingers. Tomorrow, if the spark is still lost, I will summon the courage to speak to her, to bridge the gap of our silent encounters. I wonder how many countless others see someone every day, going through the motions, and never speaking. What keeps us so closed off from one another? After all, we are all on this human journey called life together, sharing the same spaces in this etched-out moment, destined to repeat our routines like clockwork, from this building to the next and the one after that. WC: 712 The Stairs In a room above a busy street The echoes of a life The fragments and the accidents Separated by incidents Listen to by the walls We share the same spaces Repeated in the corridors Performing the same movements Story to story Building to building Street to street We pass each other Story to story Building to building Street to street We pass each other Listen to by the walls We share the same spaces Repeated in the corridors Performing the same movements The nature of your tragedy Is chained around your neck Do you lead or are you lead? Are you sure that you don't care? There are reasons here to give your life And follow in your way The passion lives to keep your faith Though all are different, all are great Climbing as we fall We dare to hold on to our fate And steal away our destiny To catch ourselves with quiet grace Story to story Building to building Street to street We pass each other on the stairs Listen to by the walls We share the same spaces Repeated in the corridors Performing the same movements Story to story Building to building Street to street We pass each other on the stairs |
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