여유

I have once walked into a singular space where time didn’t flow. An island in the city.

When space between sidewalks are far enough, they build a small, concrete platform in the middle of it, dividing the crosswalk into two.

After crossing the first black and white pavements, I arrived at the island.

Instead of looking at the sidewalk to which I was headed, I turned my body so it would align with the direction of the speeding cars.

And there, time stopped.

To the left, taxis rushed behind, to the right, wheels raced forward. But here, on this island, nothing moved. Even the trees lined before me, an extension of this narrow and long island, would not move, save for its leaves chiming to the wind.

A peculiar, magical feeling dawned on me.

If this island stretched beyond the pavements to the furthest edge of this neighborhood, I would see a mammoth in the jungle, strolling under the night sky. Its enormity and plodding movements would compel awe. For a moment I wanted to lie there, not for too long, and eternally.