Eyes of the city

.. Tell me, have you ever, walking around the city in the evenings, pay attention to the windows of houses? Usually, immersed in ourselves, in our thoughts, we do not even think about the fact that we are being watched.

It always seems to me that the whole world is hidden behind these shining rectangles. A world where there is no falsehood, a world in which all masks are thrown off... After all, life is a theatre, it doesn't matter whether a person plays on stage or not, right? Every time he leaves the threshold, he gets under the bright spotlight... And it depends only on the person himself which performance he should play - a comedy or a tragedy... We choose our own roles.
And, having chosen a role, you need to play it to the end so that it becomes brilliant.. But, fortunately, any performance has an intermission. And it is the night for us. When she throws her dark veil over the city, thousands of lights light up. It's like a lot of eyes are opening at once.

Some of them will soon go out, sinking into sleep, but others are still glowing well after midnight. It can be seen that someone is not sleeping, or maybe the soul is not in place from something?
Maybe someone, turning on the TV, is trying to drown out the silence, and the other, on the contrary, is trying to find the truth in a dispute; someone is writing poetry, splashing out accumulated pain and rage or happiness and delight on paper; someone is waiting for a call from someone, not even realising that the other is waiting for the same, because sometimes we are so afraid of being intrusive that we seem indifferent, but still someone must take the first step, that's just him or her?

And someone is just sitting at the table, with a glass of wine in his hand, thinking about what he will never say out loud... But people are so similar to windows. Some are closed, others are open, but not because there is emptiness behind them, there are just people who are silent next to strangers, in noisy companies; but once they get used to another person, they change, opening the whole universe of the soul to someone they can trust. Others have transparent glass or even coloured glass… Beautiful, but tiring. And there are mirror ones… You can see everything from the inside, but you can't look in there… Windows have a common property: they look at each other or in front of them. Rare windows look into the sky…

But now the east is beginning to turn red. And, slowly and majestically, the sun rises on the horizon. The doors open, the performance continues. But only until the next night, when the window in our sleeping houses will light up again, which the sleeping windows will look at indifferently..