Cry for me and i’m so sorry
It spreads and spreads, the more I grieve over you
Please hold me again
If there was anything more admirable than my stubborn aficionado towards her, I dared to run bare-skinned to commemurate the universe for showing me the tangible proof, if ever there was any. What I knew full certain was, Othello would take my admiration as an insult for his groundless affection to Desdemona. Or to make it less an insult, I seconded his nature.
And it was that another night at the cafe that I failed to remember the weather to match the mood, she left me awed, for gazilion times, and since time allowed me to exaggerating, with her quick wit.
“It was plain stupid but his age made it somewhat understandable. The narrator shouldn’t give up what indeed might have been a magnificient career for him as a painter, solely based on his first failed drawing trial of boa constrictor from the inside and outside. Even he realized it himself at last, grown-ups only care about matter of consequences, they lack this one essential element called imagination. We all used to be a child with immense wonder, curiosity and imagination, but as time progress they bet what could have been a precious carrier.”
To her endless fascination with ‘The Little Prince’, I replied cautiously, “But it was probably too late for his age, to pursue the career the moment he came into a realization. The better is to make it a lesson learned, for his successor.” And to her dainty resentment my answer only left her seemingly dissatisfied.
“What I long hold as a believe, it’s never too late to be what we might have been. Why shouldn’t we bother what others said? Seeking an approval is an act of a coward.”
A silent treat from her for every of my uttered half-proceed response never ceased to amaze me, of this woman capability to helplessly draw me in in her rose-colored glasses of understanding the oftenly falsified world. And she was what you could imagine a living utopist. As if the world itself never done her wrong, and thus she failed to consider the ugly side of reality. Her sounding optimist aphorism, to me, by the passing time, had became my own personal cheering.
She showed herself up again another day left me not a single second passed but in endless wondering guessing her sudden physical non-existent. Even when her solid form wasn’t in my eyes radius to cautiously examine; I didn’t know since when, but to watch her so absorbed into the thing in her hand brought an odd indefinable sense of pleasure and amusement.
Ever since I made an insignificant approach in getting to know her, the only known from her was; it was ‘The Little Prince‘ the book that made her ever so solemnly statued. By the passing month, I could hardly guess whether the counting of her reading was progressing still, I supposed it was a matter of crystal clear certainty.
She once made an imaginary hard slap on my face by arguing about passion; I kept on rediscovering mine innate interest but a numerous trial led me only to vague, if not, short-term purposes, if anything there was one thing right certain I could shamelessly convey to her; it was so thoughtful of her for having a serious concern over one’s life. ‘Was it as well the reason of her repeated reading? Of unresolved curiosity that led her to steady wonder.’
The sight in front of my eyes for I full conscious realized was the most magnificent still image at its second passed currency. She came out to be ever so lustrous a sight; her untied shoulder-leght dark hair and knee-end black dress firmly wrapped her enigmas. But what was heartfelt could not be deceived, her blinking casted an ever so gloomy state of mind. ‘It is as if your heart has been severely broken by some in disguise reasons. What could be the causing of seemingly broken display?’
Within minutes counting, she shifted her sight ever so dazzling on my side, as if to discover the missing puzzle. We made a firm and intense eye contact for my subcouncious failed to make a wrap how long, but I hoped it was lasted forever. She ended it with her dearest smile. By then, she dragged me deep into her played world.
The sighs sound cruel and harsh
But I can’t hear anything- no sounds of salvation