#62 Post-data stories and uneventful days

The small details is what matters

The small details is what matters

My dear aliens, what can I say today if my life consists on being recluded between four walls of a hostile environment surrounded by torturous theories and heavily coloured sheets. Nothing. This post has no purpose, no reason to be, no content, no nothing. I apologise for my failure but as my promise stand, I want to report to you on this day and give you something.

I have no words. I am speechless. I’m sorry. My life is boring.

P.S.: At least let me give you an story.

I called him from the hospital. It wasn’t anything serious, I just fell over abd twisted my ankle. You add my inexistent tolerance to pain and it results in me desesperately calling my boyfriend, crying and begging him to come to me. It wasn’t such a big deal, but apparently I made a great freaking job in scaring him and now I was heartfeltly regretting the consequences. Damn.

We got home and after leaving my stuff on the side of the door, he left and went directly to our bedroom and I have yet to see anymore of him.

I open the doow to our bedroom slowly, curious of the why of his reclusion, already feeling that it had to do something with me but too frightened to ask; or knock on the door and expose myself yo his rejection, for that matter. The room is bright with the afternoon sun and our romm seems just like usual, a  little messy maybe but that has nothing to do with the man lying on his belly, with a pillow effectively blocking any sight and his hands clenched over our beautiful bed covers. 

I walk over and sit down next to him, putting a hand in the closest patch of skin I can find and feel his warmth immediately. It doesn’t calm me down but it helps because he is here. I feel I should be grateful that he hasn’t stormed out, even though I do not quite understand how we got here.

I don’t speak because I don’t want to and because I don’t get what are we doing here, why are we feeding each others sore moods in this precise moment, or why we are upset, or over what. Tom is not one to offer deep talk and so I know this is going to be long and exhausting, and because I don’t want to be, because I love this man, who has yet to face me, so much, I don’t want this waful day to turn back like that. 

An hour. 

An hour and  a half.

Almost two hours.

– You scared me.

– What?

– You twisted your ankle and called me as if you were about to die. Are you crazy? I almost lost it thinking you were at risk, that something happened to you, you know…

I run over every fucking terrying scenario of you… I though you…

Silence

– And you just twisted your ankle.

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Give me a minute

How did we end up here is beyond me. I once hated him. Or so I thought. I knew there was a feeling there that made me erratic and anxious to the point that my chest hurted. I thought I hated him because that is the natural reaction to someone’s bullying and dismissal. I thought I hated him because there was no other feeling to have in such a situation. I hated him because there was no reason for his behaviour but pure and absolute hate towards me; and so, I hated him.

Time has passed and I wished it would be more time so our relationship would be ridiculously justified by the passing of the years, as if all that time would say: things have changed. But the truth is that in a short period of time the feelings remain the same though we might not call it hate. I still feel erratic and anxious, and my chest still hurts, for him.

My dad is holding my hand the best he can, he is as nervous as I am but at least he is not shaking. I am dressed in white, pretty flowers in hand and traditions and superstitions hang on my body. My best friend is a few feet ahead of me, talking to the children and somewhere further away is him.

I take one step forward. Another. One more. Another one. Countless more. And I feel his hand on mine, I see a little glow in his eyes and a gulp down his throat. This is a moment in life and last night, when we were apart, we promised that we cheriss this moment for the rest of our lives, no matter what, this minute counts.

I feel his hand slowly, deliberately caressing my skin from my hand to my waist. My pulse in raicing and I don’t understand what he’s doing, but if this is what he wants, me, his bride, won’t say no. He takes half a step closer and pushes me to meet him halfway. He presses his forehead to mine and breaths happily. I look up at him and quickly wipe that traitor tear and smile at him. His traveling and active hands take my face in warm embrace and he gets close enough that only me can listen him whispering “give me just a minute”.

Like that, memories flood me of all the times that he has said that, and right know the meaning is more evident to me than ever before. He said it before our first I love you. Struggling with his speech, he just took a deep breath looked me in the eye as he hold me close. After a minute of feeling us, there was no need to say it but he still did it.

Before I met his dad, he hold me safely in his arms and said “I’m here, you can have a minute”.

When we told the world about our love we fought the painful shock and surprise as best as we could. By the time we got to the cab hand by hand and sat, he said “I think I need a minute, love” and so I crawled to his lap and hold him tight.

Now, on the day of our union, if he wants me to be close, connected, being one with him, that I give to him. I give him all my minutes.

Dante and Beatrice

Wrote this many, many years ago (I will try to cut short the cheseeness but I was just a poor excuse of an adolescence back then) yet it is still one of my favourite love story of all times – even though the reality is a bit creepy if decontextualized -. Hope you like it 🙂

Night of the 31st December of whatever year you like: next year, past year, this year. A couple in a hill close to their city, look up to the sky where only bright stars witness their love. In his hands an instructive book of astrology. They laugh, giggle, hug, kiss and look up to the stars; to the beautiful and eternal stars. He took her there by surprise so they could welcome the new year together and alone.

Time passes by among endless conversations and cute kisses when all of sudden, he asks her:

– Do you know Dante and Beatrice story?

– Of course – she replies with a sassy grin – Beatrice was, so to speak, his muse. He fell in love with her as fast as he saw her though she was never his. They never shared a kiss, not a touch of their skin; only quick glances over the distance. How romantic!

– No baby, the true story

– The true story? Tell me! –  and she snugles into his chest, his sweet breathing singing the perfect melody for the night

– No, Dante himself will tell you – he clears his throat before faking the cracky voice of an old gentleman and she laughs at his sillyness.

<<The rider of death swept over the fields of my life without contemplation. He cut, pulled and destroyed, one by one, every flower of my ill garden. But after days and days of anguish, of being pulled to the floor by the sorrow of my condition, I finally found the strength of my mournful hands, got up and walked. I saw abysses sinking into darkness and evil souls wandering in dreams. Convicted fighting warriors of light who had lost their last battle in the cave of the angry come into sight. In the distance, sharp cries could be heard, slowly approaching and becoming stronger. Ghost of every kind of men diverted themselves creating vortices of pain, the kind of pain that disturbes the most horrible mind.

In this blind darkness, shadows walk or levitate on cries recorded on a eternal vinyl repeated into oblivion.  The tide sways the silenced hearts , silenced and drowned in the deepest misery. I wander, alone and without destination, taken prisioner within the walls of the flaming Hell, red dungeon of uninterrupted longings.

I do not know how long i have been here, lifeless. I find no way, no river to flow, not even a light rain to hide my tears. I arrived here as exiled poet, as an idea that flies from a dry pen and commits suicide on a paper. I, the creator of divine comedy, pleading lover of my angelic lady, lover of my muse who inspired sweet scented verses, lady that touched my heart with just one anxious look. I would like to devote more sweet and delicate words to my dear, my sole reason for existence but I can not …NO! Time loses its name, forgetfulness comes to life, body and essence, stealing my soul and killing my memories without mercy or remorse, and she is no more now than a mimic of my lost imagination; I have lost her.

All that feeds my hope is to find you, keep the dream that one day you will be here , you’ll come to me, that everything that flees my mind today as migratory birds return and at last this senselesss wandering will have some meaning. What am I saying? My crazy desperation deprives me of any kind of logic. You, beautiful cherub could never be here, for your soul embodies the highest form of purity, but still … doubt does not leave me. What if I saw you and my mind, now my enemy, betrayed me and pushed you away? If this is so, there would be no forgiveness for me or why I shall continue.

Damn madness that leads me down a storm of jagged thoughts that move in circles and make me dizzy!

A silhouette of bright light appears before me. Her sweetish gaze envelops me as it did the once sacred temple exit. It was long ago but I still remember when we invaded the silences with words, when we walked together a thousand metres away. Oh, yes, then we met and I now hardly recognize you because my life is a broken mirror and does not reflect anymore. Under your step life is created . Your smile creates cherry. Your look, a crazy lovers heartfelt verses. Your breath, the sky. How different now presents itself before me this hell! Tell me, who are you that your presence becomes this cold place the most perfect place in paradise?

Your eyes light up, shine, shouts of joy and yet you do not know how to talk to me. Death took us away and my life was a perpetuate torture, a deep well that I never knew out, I could not forget you. You approach with eager arms, I depart with childlike awe. Your lips are broken lines but there’s no sound or response. With an impulse i throw myself to you, I feel your breath, I melt in your mouth, it all makes sense in paradise. Finally in this dark cavern I see the sun. Happiness leads a remembrance to me, is so close : I LOVE YOU!>>

– I love you too