My project for course: Creative Writing for Beginners: Left were Just the Ashes

A little preface:

I delayed three years on writing my final project, I want to thank a very dear friend of mine on convincing me to post it since I'm very hesitant to share writings, but finally here it is. I'm embedding some pictures from my little notebook from the first exercise. I enjoyed questioning why I like to write, aside from my privy nature. The story I wrote is a mixture of several events that happened to me in a certain period of time, combined with elements of interest of mine.

It's been a wonderful journey to be able to write again and a challenge since English is my second language and I wanted to write something in English in a proper way once. I would appreciate feedback from @shaun_levin naturally. I'm open to constructive criticism.
Thanks for the course. Enjoy.

Left were Just the Ashes

It's 16:14. Or that's what the wretched metro station clock puts.

Just a Friday afternoon like any other...

I got out of my normal route at a random station. Listening to the three-song playlist, on my clam phone. It's already the fourth time I’ve listened to the same songs in a row for about half an hour. Still, I decided to keep playing it while I’m on the move.

I’m carrying a pack of cigs inside my pocket, the ones you gifted me with the Stan Getz tape on a sunny afternoon, just like this one, with a playful smirk since you know I’ve never smoked, but I do love Jazz. You jokingly stated: “The day you light one of those, it truly will be the death of me”.

I grasp the box firmly, while I get walking on a road to nowhere. The station is grey, just as the other stations, all the same, smelling of burnt fuel and rotting, filled with people walking in a hurry trying to reach the next train.
I’ve always wondered if walking hurriedly and living in a flash is worth it in the end? I cannot help but wonder, why do we exist? Is there a higher purpose? Or are we just shadows of our routines, endlessly walking through our lifespans with the only purpose of? Of what exactly…?

I climb the marble stairs and reach the street, a very crowded one with street sellers, many of them trying to catch the attention of the incautious passersby, insistingly offering their goods. I keep my pace to avoid them until I reach a bridge near the airport and a bus stop. I climb the bridge to enjoy the view.

The sun is starting to turn red, bright, and beautiful. From here I can clearly watch the silhouettes of the Popo and the Izta, and a big part of the city. Majestic views from a humble location.

When I was young, the metamorphosis of the sky left a deep impression on me, first, with the sunrise warm and calming which gave birth to the world, then the sun reached its peak at midday with a lovely but a bit fierce light, but in the afternoon, not only the sun but the whole earth bled in sorrow for the death of the day, finally the night came after what I considered a gruesome death bathed in deep red sky blood. Now as a grown up I feel relieved we have glowing red beyond grey concrete mortal monuments …

I’m tired of walking so far, so I made a stop at a Chinese cafe. I ask for a plain coffee and a small muffin to the waitress, while I lazily gaze at the window. There's a lingering feeling of emptiness, and dread.
I know that my tiredness isn't merely one from walking, but the realization of my own loneliness. It's been months in which I've drowned myself into this monotonous routine of double turns at work, college and taking the same train over and over.

My time is due, so I shakingly take out that envelope: the one letter I’ve been postponing an entire year on reading:
You wrote: “At the moment I can finally have a grasp about what Camus said about Sisyphus and the absurd, I won’t cling to a God or deity, nor do I feel the urge to repent or harbor regrets in my heart. My conscience is clear, and my fate is sealed, I have lived fully. I won’t meet you again since I don’t want you to pity me. My only request for you: When you’re ready, bring me a light. Even if I’m already far away…”

I left the cafe, without taking but a sip of coffee.

What day is it? I don’t know. Date and hour are meaningless right now.

I am here.

I’m unpacking the box.

Finally, I have never smoked, but you already know it. There is a spark and a soft vapour.

I am standing here beneath the dark sky bathed in starlight, in the same place you gave me the tape, you gave me the letter and you said those two words once.

I came to give you light.

In the end there were just the ashes.

And I was able to smile again.