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Author Topic: Unresolved  (Read 74 times)

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Online StregaTopic starter

« on: February 08, 2019, 04:53:55 PM »

It has been a while since I last visited my old neighbourhood. I have been living in a different country for more than a decade now. Life and its demands…

Master Sun was up in the sky, obliterating even the tiniest chance for a shade to be formed. This country is blessed with a sun larger than its trace on the world map. As much as I love the way its rays dance on my skin and cover me protectively in their warm light, I feel like I will never get used to it again. Was I always like that, or maybe I have changed? I cannot seem to remember.

The small city looks familiar, the neighborhood as well. As I am walking along its small streets and narrow local passages, my eyes keep looking left and right, my sight caressing the old pavements, the small balconies with the rusty but intricate railings, the tall windows --a fashion of a quondam era, a more romantic one, a simpler one-- the worn colours of the exterior walls, the numerous, little pots, all filled with herbs and flowers; basil, rosemary, lavender, carnations, lilies, hydrangeas.

My steps unconsciously led me to the old, little local church. The paradox with churches is that no matter how much everything changes, how many houses are being demolished and how many new three, four or five-story buildings pop up like mushrooms around it, the church remains intact, untouched by human intervention. Like an anchor in the depths of time’s archipelago.

I followed the small path that led to the church’s entrance. As I was walking among tall, untended grass and little white chamomiles and red poppies, my mind wandered through the summers of my teenage years, and those of my earlier youth. We used to spend our free time here, you and I. The lazy summer mornings, the cool spring afternoons… Even when we played hooky from school, this is where we chose to spend our day.

The little white building was glistening under August’s merciless sun and the untamed verdure around it highlighted its paleness even more. The old, wooden door was closed. Locked. This place has not seen a liturgy for a while. I circled the old church, the palm of my hand brushing the cool cement as I went. We used to speak a lot on this yard, speak for hours. I never really believed in God like you did, but this place had helped me find peace. It was sacred to me, but for other reasons.

I reached the back of the church. I removed my hand; it was now full of white dust, thick as chalk. I remember I had challenged you back then to write our names here, on this wall. You did not like the idea at all, and you were conflicted, thinking how much of a blasphemy that was. You did it anyway though, because I asked you. I rarely asked you for anything.

A smile carved its way on my face. Our names were still here! Your handwriting was always so distinctive, with its elongated lines and the weird way you used to write your capital letters. I would have recognized it anywhere, even after all these years.

I traced your name. Each and every letter. I felt a knot in my throat. Where could you be now? We used to share our biggest dreams on the back yard, sitting on the grass with our backs against this wall. I remember you wanted to teach, and I remember you liked painting. Have you become an artist? Are you traveling around the world, bedazzling everyone with your fine watercolours? I never managed to draw, not even a single shape. You were always laughing at my poor attempts.

Twenty years later and I am sitting on this very ground, upon the grass, against “our” wall. Nothing has changed but everything is different. I never managed to forget you, and I just realised. I never managed to move forward and it is because we lost each other without a single goodbye.

We were young, so young!  Nothing was our choice back then and, sometimes, I wonder if anything actually is. I tried to find you and I am sure you tried as well. And even if you did not, I am sure you wanted to. I know it. So many “why’s” and “if’s” shower my mind right now. The knot on my neck threatens to turn into tears of… nostalgia? Shame? Hopelessness?

How much I want to hold you, to talk to you. To tell you how unhappy I have been all this time. Your absence had always been the thorn of my life. I would have given anything to see if you still look the same like you used to. Would you recognise me, I wonder, as I look at my tired hands with the protruding veins and the skin which has lost the freshness of youth.

“Only a God knows.”

I laughed.

I laughed thinking that if I had been more faithful to Him and if he knew where you are, he might have told me as well.

The title's font along with other beautiful fonts
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« Last Edit: February 08, 2019, 05:54:17 PM by Strega »

Online Zaphod

Re: Unresolved
« Reply #1 on: February 09, 2019, 12:19:06 PM »
I loved it! ❤️

Online Al Terego

Re: Unresolved
« Reply #2 on: February 10, 2019, 08:36:53 PM »
That was beautiful