Anxiety

"Do you know what happened on this day?" she said. She had been sitting there for so long without opening her mouth, perhaps waiting for the right time to say something, or something she hadn't even admitted to herself. I quickly answered, asked; "What?" "There's a street up there that isn't very close to your house. I was crossing the street there." She was looking at the ground as she spoke, swaying slowly to the side as if she had lost herself in the melody within her. She was in a similar state to those who recite prayers. I knew there was something wrong with her, but from the outside she was in a state of great comfort; You know, there are people who have given up the life of the world and whose hearts are satisfied; In Islam, they say 'mutmain'. That's what seemed to happen! It was as if the gates of heaven had opened in front of her, and she had been invited in. She shook her head left and right, and her dark brown, silk, long hair swayed delicately. She continued to speak. "I almost got run over by a bike." I quickly turned my head to her. "She caught me off guard, for at that moment my mind was drawn to the silence of the lady with whom I had sat for a long time on the bus; It was struck by her elegance and her curly, intertwined hair that shimmered with its tangled but perfect elegance, her brown coat, her eyes that she never took away from the window. I was still thinking about him, I was happy. But I was going to die as a victim of a fast, stupid, adolescent cyclist coming from across the road and coming in front of me. I talked about it to myself for a while, I thought, I thought, if I had died there. The woman sitting next to me would not know about it for the rest of her life, she would not know that I was dead, nor that she was the last person I thought about before I died! My perfect thoughts for her wouldn't matter, maybe I wouldn't even be on the news, because people die, die and never come back to life, that's normal, it's normal! 

But the unborn children of the deceased, the unfulfilled dreams, the books she wanted to read, the cities and countries she wanted to go to, the experiments she wanted to do, the hobbies she wanted to try, the pictures she wanted to draw, the music she wanted to listen to, why none of this matters! Reason? If I died there, what would it change in the world? Is it the fact that a poor passer-by has a bad day, or that she walks around puffing out her chest saying "I saw murder"? Think about which one I would cause, Which! Imagine; Why does a person spend her whole life on a job, and then die on the way home because of the mistake of an irresponsible person? Or on the way home from school, or at home, or at school! No matter where it is! Why does a person spend her life helplessly on all this, let her life, her dreams, her hopes, everything be wasted in the middle of a road by a fool who does not care about life, who does not deserve it, who has no dreams and no wishes, why? Or why is she so attached to someone who does not love her, she wants to watch the sunrise and sunset with him, she wants to look at him, see him, hear him at every moment? Why does she spend her life on all this? Or why is she so attached to his studies, wins the hearts of his family with 100 points, but spends her life being under a vehicle that travels at a speed of 100 kilometers per hour? That was all I thought of when I came here, the one that confused all my mind, that got on my nerves, that kept me silent and didn't speak; who wrote two thousand kinds of death scenarios in a two-minute drive; music, music, and music, which makes me want to listen to music, to go to the top of this tower over there and shout and forget about everything." By the time she finished, a lot of droplets were leaking from her eyes, like the filters of light that were now leaking out of the window, and I was just beginning to understand things.