She is beside me, lying in my bed as she was so often before. Lifeless, tired and a little ashamed, in the awkward silence that nudity is sometimes arise among strangers. I switch off the light, and my eyes widen, staring at the black ceiling white. Y parading images of my fantasies, or my memories, which are mixed with malice. I fight, offal, one by one, a sudden eyelid.
Two naked people, stunned by the assault, which are found there by chance, with the purely anatomical curiosity that some children may face a foreign body. I would like to snuggle up against the ghost who shared my nights, and who resembled him so much. The night has been erased, as the alcohol vapor carry with them the madness of drunken nights, leaving the ground the scent of bitter reality. And this procession of concrete issues that waits at the door the day ...
The night has passed over our lives, very slow, very quiet, like a convalescent. Like a lonely grief and healing. After nearly naked me this error. And I bathe in a mixture of anxiety, anger, distress ... as compassion, and the irrepressible desire for forgiveness, I am trying to silence. I want to give a chance for my dignity.
morning caress the curtains white and light filtered gently wrapped his body. She is still asleep. It plays very well asleep. She seems so fragile, helpless. I pity to have lost this game it has triggered. She shuts the door, very small in this feigned sleep, which seems to spare the embarrassment a bit. That night was long. Daylight comes as a very distant memory, a time when reality was still accessible. As these dreams
very complex, I already feel our history that escapes my memory. Very soon I catch the thread that runs through my fingers, and I go back the winding path of my memories. I want to understand what I went through, between these two states of reality, between these two states of me.
II
I had seen sitting at a bar. I was just passing, but was in no hurry. I walked eagerly but without purpose. Those who are wandering the delicious luxury of idle. His image mingled with passers-reflection in the glass coffee. It seemed the only lasting beauty in this setting ephemeral, and she seemed to expect, pure figment of my imagination, protected from the gaze of other men. I did not used to address unknown. The intoxication of his appearance due to having had my inhibitions, I took the moment to realize that I had nothing to lose. Then everything had gone very quickly and surprisingly well. I could only fall in the trap of his innocence. It was the most dangerous femmes fatales, I learned it after. No such heavy peonies, purple cutthroat thick and suffocating in a cloud of perfume syrupy. It was the freshness that make living easier every action of life. Speaking, breathing, movement ... all leading to pleasure by simplicity and obviousness.
Drunkenness, the rhetoric, the projected fantasies, shared at least to a certain extent I think, were quick to tear myself almost completely to reality. My reason, a few feet under my body in levitation voice was tired, and in vain she chanted with alarming tirades. I do not regret those moments of intoxication. Their memory alone is worth the trouble of having lived. And there was scarcely.
III
At what point during a dream does one realize that we dream? Sometimes you wake with a start, and the dream that remains a carcass, which leaves on the lower side and we will quickly forgotten. Sometimes there is just some improbabilities in a scenario. It then accepts the virtuality of opium, and let the story unfold, strange and defeatist at the same time, a part of us laugh gently at the naivete of the other party. The stories most perfect, paradoxically, are the most fertile ground for doubt. Every imperfection will swear vulgarly. What are the loves white ... messy
the days passed, it seemed she wanted to lock myself in my dream. She entertained fantasies, mysteries, she was blowing constantly around me a delicious and stunning cloud. My questions were embedded in the flow of excessive tenderness. I wanted a link between that and my daily delusional fantasy. It was my last step towards complete happiness. I always found that there are more wonderful than what is wanted. Tirelessly, with a thousand precautions forced forgiveness, she refused this last favor. It was an infamous torture. At each of his refusal was followed by a promise, and I was eating my brake. Sweet promised, when I almost felt the sugar on my lips, forever denied me. These frustrations as so many lashes, mutilated my love and made him prematurely old.
IV
I was ahead in the appointment. I played a little curious, a little voyeur, voyeurism that childlike forever. I wanted to please him, into his game, his fantasy. I knew it was coming, I had to arrive a few minutes later. She was always an absolute punctuality. I never did surprise, whatever the time of our appointment, she was there, invariably available. I sometimes feel that she spent her life waiting for me, it only existed for me.
So that night I walked past her house, some hard liquor in my bag, and enough to satisfy a number of our senses. Through the window through the curtain, like the first day I saw her silhouette. Her curves were busy in a form of agitation that I do not know their. It seemed to take is the missing link of my happiness. This link with reality. The humanity of my unfathomable. Fascinated, I approached, hidden by the night.
I discovered much more than humanity. I discovered Machiavelli, I discovered Dalilah. I found an actress in her dressing room, behind a backdrop of pasteboard, preparing for the performance she gave me every night. Someone had placed on the body I thought I knew so well a face abroad. She turned her back, sitting at her dressing table. Was it his mirror that was lying to me? I imagined combinations of reflections that could explain the improbability of my vision. Nothing came. The face was hers. She handled with dexterity and coolness miles blushes and brushes. She traced this to the alien face a line that finally seemed familiar. She vaguely remembered her smile. Searching for other clues, my eyes roamed the room. At the foot of the bed, a suit, a mask. Extended his character and lifeless. In a photo album repertoire of expressions interpreted it in my presence. She repeated them now face the mirror. Here she speaks. Gradually his voice is familiar intonations. She stands with her character dialogue unlikely, questioning itself to test his knowledge of his role.
I was a fool again, a naive, an ordinary excited. An insect flapping over his canvas. I stood mesmerized in front of the stage. It seemed to me that I looked a picture of these master paintings that captivate you. Around the image slowly crumbling decor of cardboard. The rest of the world around her became distorted. I standing petrified in the temple with columns, one by one, slowly crumbling in silence surrounding this beautiful picture of a brown smoke. Lost, I found the use of my legs, ran to the door of the temple, or rather to his door, I knocked violently, his eyes wide open and wet.
V
When she opened the door, it seemed that I was an executioner, and was awaiting his execution. Serious but very calm, it made me think of a condemned whose sentence had been delayed, conscious of his fault, and the indulgence which she had benefited.
Faced with my flow of complaints and accusations, it was a rock proud. She did not move, but rather was eroded, decreasing slowly. The hours passed, and the storm calmed down.
I watched her over, sat on the bed, turning her back, she had no existence. Erosion was completed, the cleansing was complete. I imagined sitting too, on the other side of the bed. On my face, maybe a few tears and translucent cold, those who are serving your nose and make breathing easier. Behind his back on his body, a wax that melts slowly and runs out. This surface film and background under the flame of shame, oozing down her curves revealed, sometimes tinged with black and sequins of her dress in agony. The end
schemes and deceptions. Floating in the heavy air of the room, stratagems instantly evaporated gave the heavy swamp eternity. His sweetness. When the lie takes shape when he finally materializes, we can track him down and score, like a tumor. When the veil slips over the flesh, and that emerges finally the privilege of truth, when the fantasies give way to the real deal, when things take their name, when people they look and say hello.
VI
I had for this strip tease fascination most unhealthy and most delicious. Nothing ever seemed more forbidden, the more superficial and more necessary. Vice never had made the truth more delicious. I still feel her body slide against each of his tricks, as she offered me many victories. I had tracked down, she went.
In complete silence, I thought I heard this personal message:
"I arrive, I expect we will know."
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