He sat there

He sat there, eyes closed, legs crossed, breathing.

I was standing, looking at him, breathing.

He looked peaceful. Unaware. Or maybe extremely focused.

I stood there, listening to the kettle boil, coffee mug in hand, looking at him.

A slight smile blossomed on his face: upturned lips and crinkled, closed eyes.

I looked on.

Looked into his routine, into his life.

I poured the boiling water into my mug, added in a splash of milk and gave it a stir.

I looked up.

He stirred.

A light turned on behind him.

Someone appeared.

His eyes opened -

I was still looking when his eyes penetrated mine.

I blushed.

I had been observing this man's meditation.

I had looked in on his morning routine, while enjoying my own.

Had someone else been observing me, I questioned.

I glanced around at the other windows of the squared apartment complex -

empty.

Vergonha

Raiva. Vergonha. Sinto o sangue a subir à minha face: Coro. Sinto-me idiota. Cara vermelha. Tento não estabelecer contacto visual. Rio-me. Tento esconder a minha vergonha. Sinto-me idiota. Mais ainda. As pessoas começam a falar de outras coisas. Fico sozinha. Sentada. A envolver-me na minha própria, e insignificante, vergonha.