We stand at the corridor, looking at the narrow street below, with cups of warm coffee in our hands. My bags lie largely ignored at the reception counter.
“The reflection of the sunrise on the van is beautiful. The colors.” I comment, knowing that you’re a dreamer as well, and that you will not think this statement odd.
You nod, and tell me about the place located in South Spain that you and Alicia are moving to next year. It has a small population of about 130, 000 people, with a river cutting through the land. You like rivers, you quip. They give a place character. And you take a sip of your coffee.
Things are simpler and quieter over there, you explain. I understand that desire.
I reply I like late nights. They seem calm and peaceful. The night is ideal for reading, writing or painting. The day is too busy.
You prefer dusks, when the city is just about to wake up with a big yawn and a long stretch. Like now. And while everyone sets off for work still half-asleep, you end work and go home with a big smile on your face.
We go on like this for a while, talking and joking randomly about bad books and good books, the rising cost of living in Barcelona, the worsening economy, how you have to change in order not to change, how you have to move in order to stay at the same spot, loved ones, our collaboration for your upcoming magazine, boring office work which we both avoid, freedom, time, and the big word happiness.
“Maybe we are happiest when we were children.” You say.
I wish I don’t agree.
We head back to the reception counter.
“Maybe we should just do whatever we want.” I steal your line, throwing it back at you. Just be.
You laugh and help me with my luggage, “Yeah.”
The cab soon arrives. We kiss each other on the cheeks goodbye. I board the cab, feeling a lump in my throat that refuses to go away for a long time. I always fare badly at farewells.
Travel guides are packed with information on where to go, where to stay, what to eat and what to do. What they forget, is that it is never tourist sites, but always people, that steal away pieces of you.
Remember to send me your second novel when it’s translated into English. All the best to you, Alicia, Laura and all the others I’ve met on this trip.
Ciao ciao.
27.7.08
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1 comment:
You were, I knew, but despite, I'm now surprised.
You are an artist, one of those. No officer, of course. It will never be your label, even if you work twelve hours a day as. Even if you write and take photos never more…
You will be, because you feel, 'cause you see and hear, cos you are here for something else, and that's clear.
I wanna control your spell. This one that makes you invisible the first time that you are looked at, avoiding most of the idiots; the same that reveal yourself at the second passing, this spell of light and true.
We talk about hapiness and... I didn't realize that you’re a happiness store (do you?). If you run out of smiles, just go inside and look at your heart: take what you need from him.
I didn’t suppose to say that, and I apologize to you for it but: I wanna thank to that nasty thief, mere God’s tool.
MA: Connected through the space.
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