quarta-feira, 15 de julho de 2009
She went to the square where they used to meet. It was useless. She saw many people, but he was not there. What's the use, then? It was his smile that she wanted. The silence was killing her. Sometimes his voice spoke in her ear, perhaps she was crazy. She had never felt that way. She looked at herself, inside there was eagerness, urgency. Who was she to cause him anything? Who was she to make him wait? She was alone and felt disgusted by her own unrealistic thinking. For letting herself dream like that. She could take it. The urgency, the absence, those things she could live with, but she couldn't bear the silence...
Henry was discreet, he only came when she was alone. He always looked inside her dark eyes and smiled widely before kissing her. Once he sang to her.
Sometimes he was light, sometimes he acted in a protective way, she loved him in all the ways he had let her. There was no data, she didn't know anything very specific about him, but she had glimpses of his soul when she looked through his eyes. She had that gift. His soul was clear, in shades of blue. Like the Caribbean sea, his spirit was fresh.
Once he had made her a very peculiar resquest. "Describe me"- He said. She knew that it was dangerous, but she tried, after some time, a paragraph came out. "A man stares at the sky looking for something, and when he sees all those stars that never end he smiles, for he knows the world is his, as it is that moment. A warm tear strings down his cheek and it gets cold on his face. He is filled with emotions, but can't help feeling empty."
He was not 'a man', he was the fresh night and the tear, the sky and the stars. After describing she realized how sad the description was... She wanted to complete him, to be the missing part, to knot her fingers through his and make sure he wouldn't cry, or that he wouldn't cry alone.
"I love you"- He said. And she didn't know how to feel. Her love was bigger than she could have imagined, there were no limits, no boundaries, just pure and brutal love. What would she do with that love? That impossible, childish love for Henry, who disappeared now and then, who couldn't love her for being so much. For being perfect. That full-grown love that killed her inside, that made her suffer and write about hope and anticipation.
He was still looking at her. He waited. She was hoping he would come, but wasn't really expecting him. She didn't allow herself to dream that high. And now there was a sharp pain inside her chest as she said "I always..." she tried to go on, but there was no voice, no word capable of expressing it, there was nothing heavier or darker than that selfish emotion, that ambition of keeping Henry close, never letting him go. She didn't say it, because she knew he would leave. Was he testing her? She felt the tears coming. They were heavy, hard to keep inside. She didn't want to ask in vain, she didn't want to pronounce the words, but they escaped. "Don't leave me".
He embraced her. They talked for a while about many things. Anything except emotions. They had fun talking, it didn't have to be so tense, so exhausting to enjoy somebody's company. He made her feel special. He loved her. Maybe even the same way.
Eventually, he left. A little piece of him died every time he did it.
After watching him disappear in the night she spoke, to herself, a bit suicidal, "I love you".