The 25th

It was the 25th.
I left the house after a while
And went out to see my father
Who was alone on Christmas day.
I personally didn't feel like going out
I was getting used to the air in my house
As I always do
After some days of inactivity
Laying down, just laying down
With no wish and no agenda
To wake up or to walk out.
Finally: there I was
Not as cold as I expected
Surely not as crowded
It's funny how the road seems to climb
Like out of a dream
As you leave the old familiar path
Near the block
That suddenly seems strange
Every new year
Every few days
The world is a strange place to me.
No people on the streets
No wind in the air
You feel like floating
And your body is light
On this cold deserted planet
Outside your house.

This is a day I can't hear the cars
And the blocks have sweat
In this purple light
Next to the bus station where I wait
Not sitting on the little bench
Like so many times before
For I already feel relaxed
Like in a sleep, my mind someplace else.
I wonder why are there so little people
Walking their dogs in jackets
(Both them and their pets)
I wonder who is walking who.
I wonder why are there so little cars
Outside on the streets,
And why are they even there at all
Where are they going to
When people are resting behind purple lights
And sweaty blocks
Perhaps even sweaty sheets
But my eye doesn't reach that far
And from out here
It all seems dead all the same
No matter the day, the year
And the hour
This whole scenery repeats.