There was music that night at The Drunken Barrel. With your eyes lost in the void, you were absorbed to follow the thread of the notes and that absolute void between your thoughts.
You were so fragile my friend. A little bird fallen from the nest. With your dark eyes, red lipstick, too red, eyelashes well highlighted, with all that rimmel, and the cheeks flushed with blush.
Your black hair framed your face. And even if you seemed lost and alone in your world, your heart was beating fast, one hundred and twenty beats per minute, as if you were on the street running at breakneck speed in the fog. Continue reading “Lauryn”
I liked looking into your eyes when you were absorbed watching out from the window glass. You still looked like a child, with that expectation that shone in your face, hidden just by the collar of the wool coat.
With your brown hair, long enough to frame your face, and the clear eyes of who after all, in spite of everything, had never betrayed himself. How old were you? Thirty or ninety? You, who had lived experiences, and always fell in love with everything.
You waited for the first snow, as a blessing, as a good reason to cry, to hope, to believe in the return of something, that you knew to have left, like everything else, in the river of time… Continue reading “The First Snow”