Waterloo Street

Her mind had been filled with replays of conversations she wanted to forget; yet, the harder she tried the louder they got.

She stood, in front of the temple's red gates, and cried, she fell on her knees.

The ground that was made of red bricks was dry and cool in an inexpressible and surprising way that was a relief to her.

She looked to the sky for a star to wish upon, but there was only the moon shining through the clouds.

The moonlight was gentle.
It felt almost sympathetic.
Or it could just be her imagination.
Or it could just be what she's looking for - pity.
Or something like that.

She noticed how the block of flats looked very different from how they did in the day. In the day, they bustled with activities and sold things that people bought for Chinese New Year. In the night, they looked mysterious, dependable, and good to jump off from.

In fact, everything looked different from how they did in the day. Like that old woman in the corner - snoozing by the now-folded-"new-moon-brand"-beach-umbrella that sheltered her flower and incense stall in the day?

Was she keeping watch for the temple?
Or just keeping watch for the stall.
Does she spend the night here?
Every night?
Or it just tonight?

Ah.
The wind.

The soft comforting wind - it consoles everything.

Well, if I have to go, I should at least give my thanks and say goodbye.

She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands and held her palms together to her forehead. Without knowing why, she also said a prayer for the old woman in the corner.

Then with the next breath, all the other voices in her head quietened. All she heard was a voice that made her realise that there were a lot of people who really had it worse - like the old woman and the other people sleeping around along this street, whose bones and hearts were born just as brittle as anyone else's.

And she was aware of her heartbeat.