Today felt like a day out of a dream. It’s funny how sometimes the most ordinary things can turn out to be not-so-ordinary once you really start paying attention.
I went to the café I always go to for breakfast. Everything seemed normal at first—people sipping their coffee, tapping away on laptops—but there was this guy sitting in the corner by himself, wearing the most elaborate coat I’ve ever seen. I mean, it looked like something out of a historical drama, like a knight’s cloak but more modern. I thought maybe he was an actor or something, but he just sat there, reading a book. No one else seemed to notice, but it was hard to take my eyes off that cloak. There was something about it, like it shimmered in a way fabric shouldn’t. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but it left me thinking.
After the café, I took a walk in the park. The trees are starting to change color now, but there was this one tree—a massive oak—that was still fully green. It stood out in the middle of all the orange and red. A woman was sitting beneath it, eyes closed, like she was meditating or something. She had this calm energy around her, and when I passed by, I swear the leaves on that tree moved even though there wasn’t any wind. They just rustled gently, like she was somehow connected to it. I kept walking, but the moment stuck with me.
Later, I met up with my friend, Jake. We went to the bookstore downtown, where we usually browse for hours without buying anything. Today, though, Jake seemed off. He found this old leather-bound book in the back of the store and spent a lot of time flipping through it. When I asked him what it was about, he just smiled and said, “It’s more than just a book.” Weird, right? When I tried to take a look at it, he closed it and put it back on the shelf like it was some sort of secret.
The most bizarre thing happened in the evening. I was on the bus heading home when I noticed a woman across from me staring at her phone. Except, she wasn’t scrolling through it—she was just staring at the screen, not moving. After a minute or two, the bus hit a pothole, and her phone slipped out of her hand. It landed face-up on the floor, and I saw the screen light up. The background was completely blank—just a black screen, no apps or icons. Before I could think too much about it, she picked it up and got off at the next stop. I can’t shake the feeling that something was off about her. Who stares at a blank screen like that?
I know it sounds crazy, but I’m starting to think that the world around me isn’t as straightforward as I’ve always believed. These small moments keep piling up, and even though I can’t explain them, they’re making me see things differently. It’s almost like there’s this hidden layer to life that I’ve been blind to until now.
Anyway, it’s late, and I’ve probably overthought everything. Tomorrow will be another ordinary day—or maybe it won’t. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
