Flip-book

My favourite thing about being out late on summer nights is the ride home.

I don't own this picture

There is this really nice bike path from the city centre to where I live, and riding along it, just straight forward, is like a little therapy for itself - on the right the river, called Coupure, and on the left all these old fancy houses with their big windows, white and high, orielwindows and little balconies.

I find myself riding along this path with my eyes going from right to left, where they glance into the shiny windows - glowy, yellow light floats out of them into the night, pieces of furniture, fragments of faces moving behind the curtains, like little secrets which now are exposed to everyone who doesn't see them hidden in the light of day. I love lurking into those homes, just for seconds, seeing what they see everyday, wondering what they are talking about while they sit around the table, wondering what they are celebrating while laughing cheerfully on the balcony. I feel like now, for this second, I am a little tiny part of their life, a life I know nothing about, one I can only imagine - I see them, but they don't see me, I am hidden while their light is shining right into the darkness.

Riding along this path is like skimming through a book, fast, page for page, picture for picture, and you barely noticed one when it's already gone, replaced with another view. Like a flip-book - only bigger. Only right beside me, and no matter how often I ride this way back home, I am always fascinated by the lights reflecting on the dark water, the high trees with their protecting branches, and then the windows - like a gallery, a museum, more lively than any painting.

There, with the cool summer breeze on my bare legs and the sounds of the night around me, I could ride forever, just along the river, along the houses. I could do it endlessly, just to not feel so alone.