She said…

I was studying concentrated, an abrupt jolt, the train stopped.                                       Outside, endless fields of desolate trees and milky blanket.                                       “Some things stay unchanged, darling”, she smiled at me.                                             An old lady with powdered face and hazel eyes as bright as dew.                                 She sat in front of me, a mauve hat with pink ribbons covered her Silvery hair.       An old-fashioned ivory costume embraced the Lilliputian frame.                                 The air shared by two ages filled up with complicity.                                                        I put my book aside.
“I remember”, she said, “was a tardy sunny day, the morning sky                                  Unclear, as the airbrushed scarlet in cheeks of exuberant cherubs.                              He held stiffly his art equipment, a shaky palm with fingerless                                     Glove clasped a tepid cup of watery coffee.                                                                     Faintly, I tucked my dull, oversized jumper into my trousers.                                         He undid the zip of his handbag, took out a hardcover book                                       And ripped a page. Handed it to me attentively.                                                                 As an ant, a breadcrumb to another.                                                                                   It felt heavy and scratchy, I made it a ball,                                                                           Hid it in the back pocket of my shabby jeans.                                                                     My train arrived. I stared at him as to grasp a slight move                                               That would retain me next to him on the grimy platform.                                               No gesture. I awkwardly tripped on the metal stairs.                                                         Just as I disappeared inside, I felt a hand grabbing my hair.                                             He deracinated a few black locks. I did not turn around,                                                   The perfume of pungent lavender and sweet musk was enough                                     To know surely it was him. I only startled when heard that word,
Souvenir. When the train started moving, I  terribly bawled.                                           I had forgotten my camera on that bleak and impersonal bench                                   On which we sat apart one from another.                                                                             A swift rain covered the windowpanes. Lightning. The images of                                   His naked soul, our shared life, my mawkish figment,                                                     Had been electrocuted in a foreign rail station.                                                                   I reached my back pocket, unfolded the paper and read the red                                   Words, painted on top of a too well known poem titled                                                     “Espero curarme de ti”,
<< Goodbye for this lifetime, mi amor>>                                                                                   Forty years have passed since, and I am still dreaming of                                               A next lifetime tale.”
I quivered when the train retook his swaying pace as if awoken
From a trance.                                                                                                                           Some things stay unchanged, darling, an inner yet strange voice                                       Whispered, in a now vacant compartment.                                                                         Only a gleaming ribbon on the cerulean leather. A verity clue.

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