Mayif

In the city where I am, the night flows like a gentle river. Outside the window, countless car lights merged into a silent band of light, winding toward the silent buildings in the distance. Indoors, the freshly brewed tea is filled with warm fragrance and casts a swaying, quiet shadow on the white wall. And in the cold light of the tablet, another drama is silently playing out. On the far shore, the city has sunk into another kind of eternal night. There were no cars, no lights, only moonlight, palely illuminating the empty streets. The camera zooms in, and the figures hesitating on the zebra crossing appear weird and slow, like broken dolls blown by the wind. Everything was silent, even the destruction seemed so polite. I gently closed the protective case and sealed that piece of purgatory. The slight coolness of the device lingered on the fingertips, intertwined with the warmth from the teacup. The world is divided into two at this moment, separated by a piece of the gentlest and cruelest silence.