February 2005 ...................... [load original version ]

In a silent, hard night, I am watching my friend as he sits alone in the dark, his eyes covered with a shadow of despair, with thoughts that travel far away, to places impossible to see, following the road that leads into an even deeper dark, into the truth, which steers into another trace of providence. A destiny that patiently waits for him, the same way as the everlasting dream awaits for a lullaby just so it could commence. He sits alone within his four-walled world, on the blanket that covers him with love and expectations fulfilled with passion. He is still there, and he is waiting for the last train towards his one and only love, toward the unknown shape that seduces him like an innocent child into the night, calling him with tender words. He is there, and he is waiting for her.

Waiting, he is living only one dream, the eternal dream he lives through every night that hunts him, creating images in his head, images that wake him up and make him think. About her, the only one, love of his life, who thinks about him too, as she moves with each step further through the dark. Each step that tells truth about what has happened and what will happen. Good and bad for him. Tranquility and turmoil of his soul, which desperately struggles to touch her, once again, one last time.            

Still there, in the corner of his bedroom, he is calling for her, yet she has called for him too, many times before, days and nights of unforgotten past, with a hope that he will forgive her; all the truths and lies she has sometimes whispered to his ear. She has prayed for forgiveness, quite unceasingly.

“Why are you here, now, love?” his shivered voice weakly spoke these words, while the chaos filled his poor mind, a vessel misguided by the cursed chemicals of hundredfiftyone.

“Darling, I still want you; to eternally dream about you, to deeply embrace you.” Her words echoed in the room as she was hiding her face in the dark. My friend’s look, completely lost and confused, still managed to hide a fear of her mystery, her existence that was here only to bury another picket in his heart, the last scar for which he hoped had finally disappeared. 

Her voice, like an angel’s, recited everything he wished to hear, everything he wanted to understand. She was everything he needed at the moment. His repose and the end in which he was born many years before.

“Why am I looking at your face love? I haven’t seen you for so long. Even then, you refused to touch me. Why should I look at someone who condemned me to life without feelings and all of the things that could have define my existence? Why!?” Furiously he screamed this to her face as she slowly approached him, calmly talking like she wants to be his friend again.

“I don’t know you anymore!” Shadows of the past embraced him again, dexterously and fast, like they have already done it before. He remembered all the moments that were filling up his life like an empty oxygen bottle.

She was actually always there, next to him, although she never wanted him so bad as she does now. And her desire was getting stronger and stronger. Even though numb and slow, he felt her presence. Alone, in the dark, he even called her name, and she answered his call. She floated like the wind, on her toes, sometimes more carefully since she knew how tedious he could be. She was afraid of him, yet she still approached. She took a risk of the last desperate act, the last one remaining.

“I didn’t expect you tonight.” He told her for who knows how many times.

“But why love? This is a perfect night for us. Can you imagine a better than this one?” Her blandish voice crawled deep under his skin as he suspiciously watched her, looking for a good excuse to finally take her in.

“You are not what I expected you to be...” My friend’s mow face threatened her presence wishful of him. “You look somehow different, this is not how I have imagined you.” He was staring at her like a maniac.

“Don’t worry, I am here now, just for you, because of you. I want you.” With her angel-like innocent face she tried to make him feel comfortable. She did this several times before already. “You know I want you, I can’t explain how much I want you. I wanted you for years now, but somehow you always reject me. Why love? I know you want me too.” Almost disappointed, she spoke these words as his mind still struggled with demons of the past. Ones that were hunting him constantly, hoping that he will let go of his own dream and go to a desert of reality. The one he is afraid of. I am watching him, his silhouette is alone and thinking about all that has happened before, and how it might have happened some other way. She was there with him. She finally touched him. He enjoyed her love, her remarkable skill of seduction. He enjoyed her cold sensual hands and her erotic voice that aroused him. She was there just for him and she cuddled his hair as he was going into a trans.

“I love you.” He said

“I love you.” She replied. “You have nothing to worry about anymore.”

Their faces finally touched. Their lips kissed. They were together at last. Her fingers scrolled over his shagged skin, as she lisped to him. She took my friend in the love embrace and they were there, enjoying one another, in the empty room shined by the shadows of forgotten memories. Love was everywhere, filling every crack in the floor, devouring every grain of dust in the air. Nothing mattered anymore.

And despite the obvious love and passion, one of them is actually the end. The end that threatens everyone, everyday, everywhere. She is a perfect being, filled with thoughts and souls of many others, with feelings many have never experienced, yet wanted to. Her name is Death, and she came to collect him, my agonized friend, a suicidal maniac, who had called her for so long and so often, for years. She took him arrogantly and moved on into the night. My friend’s wish is finally fulfilled and his pain has finally disappeared.

“Happy birthday, my friend.” I almost shed a tear as I wiped the blood of my knife and put it back into the sheath. I was standing there for a while and, under the week artificial light that penetrated through the window curtains and created dusty shadows, I was watching my friend’s numb body and a pond of his blood that was horizontally cascading beneath the bed. I was thinking about destiny, and wondered if such thing exists at all. Yet with a desperate exhale, I left another sad room, and moved on into the night myself. Into the city, maybe for a beer, or something like that.