A stepping stone rather than a destination, this is what my life is made of. Small choices that, at the end, make up a huge path filled with sorrow leaves. Sorrow? Not quite. Let me labour on that, for it is not really precise. There are times in which every each one of us feel that there must be something more, something more powerful than the sneer through which people stare at us. This is what came to happen to me the other day, when I was on the brink of losing all my single hopes in humanity and accepting my fait accompli of disillsioment, I looked back, not in anger, and found a gentle smile, a soft touch and a pair of sparkling brown eyes. Yes, I agree with you my friend, Heaven lacks, sometimes, the beautiful light that stems from a pair of brown eyes: they are not deceiving, do not have the debauchery glimmer, they do not say that you are wonderful and simply look the other way in search for a bigger bottom to satisfy its incestuous desire. They are pure, like the heavenly angel who was eager to announce the crack of a new down, a new lease of life. They have cured me, indeed. However, there's more to that: a soft touch and a passionate kiss. If only any lonsome lips could be touched as mine were, believe me, the world would be a better place. I was loved, even though it was not real, it was just to kiss the night away, but, the way he touched me made me feel important again. This is what I feel when I'm with him, how couldn't I have noticed such truthfulness in that sweet boy: you are, indeed, my sweet boy, my miracle I was waiting to happen. Sweet dreams, my dream, I may see you again...
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Hey dear!
I read it sided by another intelligent reader. And it was funny how your text caused such odd reactions at the same time. I feel it was sweet as it said, easy to swallow, honey-like but without being oversweet. He, on the other hand, felt it was a little bit jagged, somewhat sad because of a dependence in being happy out of a kiss that may be the only one. He thinks it is betting too high, I think it was seizing the moment, making the uniqueness a relion in itself. Not always of course, for you should not feed on what was good instead of having more of it. Who was right, if any?
My dear Lady,
As Drummond said: "No meio do caminho havia uma pedra." Or Matthew 21:42 "The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone." More than a stone, a diamond hidden and about to show its bright and beaty, and leave the audience with small glimpses of its light every other day.
Your words about unreal moments of love reminded me some fragments of Richard Bach "Illusions": "If you will practice being fictional for a while, you will understand that fictional characters are sometimes more real than people with bodies and heartbeats."
And about seein your sweet boy again: "Don't be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends."
Do you believe in it? I do.
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