Humiliation

Darkness enveloped the room like a damp cloak that you carry through the night forest, blotting out the stars with your darkness. Only the faint light of the monthly radiance penetrated through the fabric of the curtains, spreading across the floor in quiet spots. There was an antique mirrored cabinet in the corner, its surface reflecting something that could not be defined. He stared deeply into his reflection, as if trying to see something that was no longer there. The silence was so dense that it seemed to turn every breath into a mystery. There was a lonely chair in a dark corner, as if a ghost was hovering where there used to be light. The chair was covered with the dust of time, as if no one had touched it for a long time, not daring to break this tragic moment. Invisible threads stretched from the shadow, like a stream of silent reproachful glances, falling on the shoulders of the man who sat there, as if cornered by his own thoughts. His eyes were open, but his gaze seemed tired, like a traveler who got lost in the endless fields of doubt. He did not move, as if locked in this dark room, whose fate was locked in heavy curtains. And even the shadow flying across the floor seemed a futile attempt to hide its traces in this space of humiliation. So the hours passed until the darkness melted away, like a night fog before sunrise. But even when the first rays of light illuminated the room, the man in the chair remained in his shadow, as if he had turned into a part of this oppressive space, where every meaning becomes an unsaid question and humiliation disguised under the covers of silence.