-rain-

The blinds are lowered halfway down the window, but you can still stand by it and see comfortably outside. Life seems different from the sixth floor window somehow - because of the window itself and the lowered blinds, I only get to see a little slice of life, if you will - a curved edge of the road with cars parked alongside it, the treetops below my window, the apartment building next to mine. I stare at the trees directly below the window - it's the end of August, but oddly the trees look like their leaves are already yellowing. It must be the rain.

Further in the distance is the road leading to the bridge, but you wouldn't be able to tell it was a bridge unless you lived here. Across the road there is a large furniture store, advertising itself with gaudy neon purple lettering. A long time ago, a local newspaper's head office building stood where the furniture store is. I think back to the view out of the window - how it used to be back then - and I feel a little sad. It must be the rain.

The smoke from my cigarette snakes its way up somewhere towards an unknown goal - does smoke know where it's going? Probably not. Along the way, it mingles with the steam from the coffee cup I'm holding in my left hand, balancing my wrist against the windowsill. I watch the smoke and steam mix for a while - they don't look so different in this light. It must be the rain.

It's almost 7:30 AM and I will be leaving this city for four and a half months momentarily. I feel strange relief and sadness all at the same time - I've never wanted anything more than to live in this city... yet I am happy that I will be leaving today. Perhaps I cannot feel too sad because I know I will be back - and when that happens, there will be no leaves on the trees below this window; it will be January and all will be grey and bare and dreary. Or perhaps I know that I will always have Budapest, no matter where life takes me. Or perhaps it's the rain.

fin