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Umbrellas in Budapest



From my hotel window, I watch a procession of colorful umbrellas pass on yet another rainy day in Budapest. I think about what I've left behind, things  that could not have been, dreams never fulfilled. A rainy day, not much different from any other day of this week, in this place that  is, to me, a door to the unknown east and all the mysterious stories of my childhood. Umbrellas parade around the walls of the Fishermen's bastion, the color of lime, orange, red, purple, light blue and bright pink. I see them walking around through the drops of rain that distort the view through my window. I take a sip of my capuccino. 

I woke up late, the cold makes my tropical soul lazy, and I wait for the Hungarian lady to throw me out of the breakfast room, telling me and the young couple on the table at the corner that breakfast time is over. I look at the couple and I guess they had been awake for a while, but had been too caught up with each other to remember breakfast until it was almost too late. They are in no hurry either. 

I get up and serve myself of more capuccino. In defiance of time, I remain there contemplating yet another parade of umbrellas, a  large group  which will certainly marvel at the view from the walls, the river, the bridges, the breathtaking sight of the Hungarian Parliament. They will forget their common lives, their doubts, their uncertainties, their ordeals only too human. In awe, they will remain there speechless, for a minute or two. Then, they will resume their march. I'll still be here, sipping my capuccino and mourning all I've left behind, hoping for a future of breathtaking views and sunny days or, at least, for many other rainy days with processions of hopeful multicolored umbrellas. 

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