Ink, tears and immortality.

Posted: November 18, 2014 in Thoughts

The windows were stained with cold breath and dust, allowing rays of grey light to mingle around the oriental lilies occupying the corners.
Few people were leaving the yard and disappearing round the corner at the end of the street and he watched their shadows from behind the stains, he never liked lilies, and he is never cold.
He closes his eyes, remembering the funeral of last night; he cried so much that his tears were rolling into themselves.
The city was fully awake, but his mind was deaf to any noise but his own, he could only see some shadows and invent voices for them, sometimes giving them names and shaping their characters, but he never spoke to them.
The walls of the room were so reflective; he always thought he was surrounded by mirrors; but why isn’t the whiskey bottle part of what is shown on there? Why aren’t the table and the little spoon? Is it a coincidence that the walls only reflected faces?  Unfamiliar and cold, he surrendered all his vulnerability to them.
He heard distinctive knocks on his door, he moved towards the wooden rectangle and started feeling it with his palms, the knocks continued; the door was cold and grainy, he pressed his cheek on the wall to his right and closed his eyes, the knocks were getting louder as he breathed heavily to their pulse, and as the footsteps started fading into the hallway his nails were scratching the wood silently as he slowly collapsed into the nothingness.
“I never liked lilies anyway”, he murmured.

She was wearing her favorite perfume when she took notice of the mirror staring at her; she took one more step closer to gaze into the eyes of the woman.
“My tired and teary eyes”
She did not attend the funeral; she didn’t have the guts to go and face him, let alone bury him!
She gathered her skin, hanged her remains on a weary silhouette and went down to her car, she wanted to get away from the intoxicated thoughts of him, from his words and the truth that was haunting every syllable he uttered, but the thoughts were digging all her old wounds so mercilessly and she gasped at the sight of her own blood dripping through the corners of her mind, there is no escape. She was so thirsty, but not for water.
She knew that getting passed his door to see him is like breaking through hell, but she was blinded by determination.
Familiar streets, unfamiliar faces.
Excuses spinning in her mind as she fought her way through the waves of doubts; he is already gone. And he was talking crazy again.
The gates to his building was opened; the few steps to his apartment were so tiring, her energy drained right at his door, her fist started pounding like crazy, she heard sounds and felt movement;
3 long minutes,
she stopped,
 heard him breathing,
knew he was dead,
turned her back and left across the hallway.

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