February 2, 2022

“Hello”
Rahil Najafabadi

There is no need to anticipate when life is going on in the window. There’s a roughness to winter skin—my lips are a bit dry. The cafe’s chairs are piled outside, the coffee is no longer fresh or even hot by the time I bring it upstairs. Cream and sugar disappear—there are only flakes left of my croissant.

I anticipate the unusual slowness of the city from my bed a bit farther away from the window. I think I can see everything. It’s too cold to take a walk. I measure the climate by population on the street, or the record of foot traffic in the snow. Snow doesn’t sink to my footsteps. But not everyday —I cannot count the doves between us. Instead of letters, I receive crusts of crushed doves for friendship. I can’t see small footsteps from the fifth floor. But I’ll walk outside and slip on the ice anyway, I’ve come to say hello.

- R.N.