I've always been attracted to empty buildings.
As a child, my mother was always late when picking me up from school, so most of my afternoons were spent walking along empty corridors, going up to the very top floor, staring out at open fields, and sitting inside empty classrooms all alone. It was pretty early in my life that I made friends with the silence, and honestly, I've always found these deserted, empty spaces sort of freeing.
The feeling of just breathing at those moments, those childish humming, drawing faces on chalkboards with leftover chalks when no one else was around to judge; those were my most cherished moments in childhood. I used to wait eagerly for those every day, waiting for the clock to finally strike twelve, so I could leave the hustle-bustle behind and just be myself.
But growing up sort of took those little moments away from me. While my childhood was spent in an open school with mile-long playgrounds and open skies, my college life was equally congested.
Gone were the open fields and empty hallways, and in came the feeling of being trapped.
My college was a tall cage-like building, made out of solid concrete and windows that were barred down. It was a place where people never really left, and open skies were covered with polluted air and noises of a hundred different vehicles.
And thus, my days of being trapped began. It was hard, accepting this new reality, where fresh air was nonexistent, where I couldn't even spot a speck of greenery in miles, where empty classrooms felt like empty prison cells instead of a place where I could hum out my favorite song.
Accepting these changes took a while. But I would be lying if I said that my heart still wasn't stuck on what I had left behind.
Since then, I had always eyed big open schools or any educational institutions with a tad bit of jealousy and sadness. Those only reminded me what I couldn't get for myself, of what I had once, and what I had lost forever. It would've been nice to study in a place where I could get lost and meet my silence again. So I eyed those buildings rather wistfully, thinking what it would've felt to call them mine.
Thankfully these days, I've been a bit more rebellious than before.
Now, I venture out to wherever I want to go without stopping myself, in search of my long-lost friend. And in my search, I've finally managed to meet her again.
She now meets me upon long open roads, where greenery surrounds us as I sit with him, looking at the vast open space with a smile on my face.
She meets me along the banks of lakes and old buildings where no one is around for miles. She makes me breathe again, and makes me be myself.
Just a couple of days ago, I managed to meet her again as I ventured into an empty university building that wasn't my own. She greeted me in those empty hallways, the golden light of the evening simmering around us like desert sand. The soft evening breeze that grazed my face was her way of telling me hello.
And when I closed my eyes under that peaceful golden light with her, in the faintest of voice, I could hear her speak to me with a smile;
"Welcome home, my long-lost friend. It's good to have you back..."