I see shapes of people in various states of motion or rest-- sitting, walking, gesturing with their hands, taking long strides as if in a hurry to go somewhere, standing up, leaning against a wall, crushing a cigarette underfoot, typing away on a keyboard, drinking from a cup. Just people shapes. No faces, no emotions. No, not people exactly; rather, impressions of them.
I see colors. Subtle hues with fuzzy edges and dull ash grays to darker ones. Those colors that no store-bought tints can imitate. Like the color of the world through a foggy window, a starless sky, or when the first vestiges of light break through. Those colors that, I imagine, would be called melancholy or velvet night in poetry.
I see shadows of events. Maybe premonitions. Maybe memories. Vignettes of situations. Things I would have done but didn't. People I would have met but are long gone. Droning murmurs of conversations spoken only in the obscurity of my mind. A friendly touch on an arm, a warm hand on a shoulder, a casual caress of fingertips through hair-- as tentative in thought as in substance. Maybe dreams. Maybe lies.
I watch life unfold-- not before me-- but out of the corner of my eye. And only here do I feel safe.
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