The View from the Window by Valeria Zalevska

The stairs were bumpy. We were walking up to some patio with benches.
The evening was cold. We took a seat on the farther of benches. The light was dim. The street lamps were opaque, making the air grainy for such people as me, with poor eyesight. It seemed that the atmosphere was full of mat tinsels, of some pure and balanced magic. The patio turned out to be some kind of garden with old trees, that for sure knew to much. They covered people on benches, promising to hide their secrets and to save them from all the problems of living in big city beyond the cozy patio. But the leaves were to young to protect and to hide everything. We saw a wall of the shopping center turning red behind the trees. "Red is an active and positive, but a bit aggressive color", I said, "I like it".  "
"You like it" or "it is your color"?" he asked.
We talked about colors.
The leaves must have been light green, but seemed to be gold in the evening light of street lamps. "Gold is energetic, but not crazy as bright yellow", I declared.
"Yellow is for funerals" - he said. I asked why. "Yellow flowers are to be presented on funerals. We talked about colors and flowers. The sky was cloudy. I perked every five minutes to watch an almost full moon that peeked out from the clouds. The clouds were smoky, gray and vague as my thoughts. The moon was pearl, as well as a big stone in my mother’s ring on my finger. He said that he liked the ring. He took my hand and we went down the stairs back to the city center with bright signboards and ads. It was the warmest evening in my life.