arrives at the same time, alone with the quiet pace of those not in a hurry. Down the stairs and leaves behind the twilight to enter the artificial glow of neon lamps.
passed me without looking. Earphones in my ears has a i-pod hidden in his jacket pocket. Moves his head to follow the rhythm of the music and hair, long, brown, rippling as if moved by the wind. I hear their scent of peach and jasmine, to cover the smell of sweat, oil and iron in this corner of the metro. Breath and at the same time I close my eyes and find myself at his side, facing the ocean, looking at a distant point on the horizon and decide on a future that will never be the same direction.
The blast of a train in rush me back to reality, with his back against a pillar in the company of dozens of commuters.
I called April, is a name that is well and I remember the first time I view, in a warm April, the pale sun between breaths of wind.
It 's beautiful and always elegant. Today, wearing a white shirt over a black skirt with dark pantyhose to hide the legs long and muscular that disappear in a couple of high-heeled boots and wide.
stops under the sign 14 St., on the edge of the yellow line, while the safety, puts his hands in his pockets and waited. Every so often see in the darkness of the tunnel and I hope in a delay to stay a bit 'with her.
Every day the look and feel like I know more. From the way he dresses, from what I read, the music he listens and that hums quietly in the deafening noise of the trains the confusion and bustle of New York.
If I'd had the courage to continue. A joke, an excuse for an appointment.
Holding hands will accompany them on my sites. The flow in the center of the West Village for an afternoon of conversation and coffee, sitting at a table in my grandmother's cakes and tea. In front of hot cups, warm light, looks hot.
Then at dinner, overlooking the East River. Discover their own tastes and eating and laughing observe; remain speechless in front of his smile that can make me slow down breathing. Offer her a cigarette and feel his eyes on me while I fill the map with precise gestures of tobacco and fast. The moment is approaching to kiss her turn to be in doubt if or not.
will never happen.
Yet I have no regrets. The wait to hear it down the stairs and see her emerge suddenly fill me with joy. Enough for me those few minutes with her, side by side, in a hint of intimacy that goes beyond the familiar and frequent. It 's the fear of ruining everything that makes me stand still.
The train arrives with a deafening noise amplified by the reinforced concrete walls of the station. The brakes screeching and impatient people move towards the doors. April
moves a little, to miss the crowds. Not what his train. It 's my. I'm always the first to surrender.
My mom reached over and took my hand. He is afraid that I lose, but I'm twelve years old, are old enough to do many things, even to go home alone.
The doors close and look at April through the dirty glass of the window. For a moment our eyes meet. My love for a girl and her mysterious underground.
seems to smile.
suddenly feel warm and forget for a moment the crowd at the local level, the musty smell of fried sweat. I want to get off, pull the brake and get out of the running for lifting myself off the doubt.
But the train will carry me away. April becomes small, a dot until no further.
Tomorrow. 'll See her tomorrow.
This is enough for me.
A big thank you to David , for the picture, and the idea .....
0 comments:
Post a Comment