No title

I walk home from school. I listen to soft, nice music as I start to fall into deep
thought. It’s been drizzleing all day. Small raindrops fall into little puddles,
puddles from which I can see the reflection of trees and cars passing by.
Puddles which look like windows to another world, a maybe better and more
exciting life. It starts to rain harder. People run, looking for shelter. I walk
slowly and steady not looking straight but at the puddles around me. Why
don’t people like rain? It starts to rain even harder and I can hear through my
earphones the thunder now and then. I’m really getting wet now but I don’t
care, I don’t accelerate my rithm. I like cloudy days, specially when it rains
and even more when there’s lightning and thunder, it’s a bit different day. A
day slightly outside the monotony of this life. The sound of the raindrops on
the concrete, on the grass, on the nearby leaves makes my music sound
even better. My glasses get full of tiny drops which reduce my vision. As I
walk, I involuntarily go under the trees to look for shelter below it’s leaves. I
don’t care getting wet but I do feel uneasy for my soaked backpack and the
notebooks inside it, life goes on and I shouldn’t give myself more problems.
The few people I can still see in the street go with umbrellas and waterproof
capes, walking quickly. They look desperate. My slow walk hasn’t changed
and the security guards give me a strange look as I pass by their buildings.
I’m close to my home, now there’s just a small park in the way. I remember
that in a day like this my cellphone was stolen. A man on a bicycle wearing a
jacket with a hood saying he supposedly had a gun. I’m pretty sure now that
it was a lie but it was the first time I was robbed and I was scared. Since
then, my mother tells me to go around the park but I keep going through it.
It’s nicer, looking up under a roof of trees and feeling the big drops of water
acumulated on the leafs hitting my face. I’m at my building now, looking
through the glass front door and realizing there is no guard to greet. It’s a
small building where about ten people live including me and my mother,
everyone has to have their own key. Once inside, the rain can barely be
heard and the only sounds are my footsteps and the noise my keys make as
they hit one another. I open my apartment door hoping my mom is not home
yet. I like being alone every now and then, maybe even more than being
surrounded by people. I do like being with people who aren’t that
supperficial, who are what they say they are. They don’t have to be the most
intelectual person or have the most interesting and exciting lives. Even
though, lonelyness is pretty amazing. When you’re alone you think better,
you work better, you create better, you feel freer, when you’re alone you can
imagine better, you can analyze more, feel more. Like I feel my music right
now. I love music. I like playing instruments, I like discovering new tracks. I
like creating music. Music can understand you like very few people can. As I
think every word I’m going to write next, the song accelerates, slows down,
becomes louder, etc., in the perfect moments. Making music can be a way to
express yourself, just like writing. I like writing. Writing is for lonely ones, for
people who have a lot of spare time and it’s even better when you combine
it with music. Right now I’m thinking if everything written here should be
shown to others, to those who might take their time to read it, or if I should
leave it for me only. Should I show it to a special someone, just to family, just
to friends…? It has no author name, it has no title other that “title”. Should I
upload it somewhere anonymously? Should I right it in a way anyone can
adapt it to their life? Or should I say what type of music I am hearing, what
city I live in, or even how do I look like? Should I use this as the start of a
novel I am wanting to write a while now? Because I like to write about life. A
normal and boring life that suddenly becomes extraordianry and exciting,
maybe because I wish something like that happened to me. Should I try to
desperately change my life? Is it a “now or never”? Or more a “wait, it will
get better”? I also like movies. Although I don’t watch them too much, I do
want to make one. Not science ficcion like, not the typical CIA or FBI agent
saving the world, but again, about a normal life, a more realistic movie. A
movie of tradegy, romance, happy ending. I would like to make a movie or
write a book showing how awful life is, how meaningless it is, how crazy it is,
how sad it is, how short it is, but also how awesome it can be, how full of
experiencies and knowledge it can be, how happy and infinite it can be. My
computer is on now and I open Word. I write everything I thought. The words
flow like an angry river without stop, until now. I feel sad because…

I forgot many things I thought on my way home.