Dirty Shades

The night came returning, and it devoured the last glimmer in the ashes of the day. Fainting sounds of the past don't appear as a cacophony anymore; now they get braided in a beautiful symphony of melancholy. Still it is suffering, but in a squeezed and concentrated condition; tranquillity, but not so desperate like before. The narrow sphere of action that makes me released at the same time drains my juices, and I know, that in a general meaning the ones to receive the ready product will never know, who was standing behind its creation.

Trembling light of a cigarette is drawing a ghostly web of light around my face. It gives an opportunity to catch a dismal reflection of it in the pane of glass, that separates me from the outer world, still relative because of the same night enthroned. But I'm staring through the reflected pupils to the other side - to the dirty stone fence surrounding the building. There are numerous shades. Clearly delineated shades of branches and leaves, mysterious and diffluent shades of my memories, projected on the wall... The shades. They are so ethereal, but right they are real. They are me. I am one of them. A dirty shade, almighty, but so short-lived.