Sleeping with her

01/08/2022 Nilson Lattari

I don’t want to waste my night except in her company and I swear when I say it. When the night and the darkness are coming I figure out the next step. My eyes open and I try to see through the darkness behind the curtains of the night that drop down in my room, how will she be dressed?
We have a password or something like that. At first, I close my eyes and figure out a place anywhere. One of these places is where I am lost in the past and I decide to go ahead aimlessly, looking for a new route in my life to modify my future.
What kind of lover could I be? And about my profession? What could be my choice in my studies, maybe I could try another graduation or if I had information from the future I could send it myself in the past.
My bed is ready for her aside me and, finally, she lies down. We start putting stone over stone, elaborating paths, and… ah! Of course! The conversation is perfect and fitted. My ears listen to her about things but we left them aside. They must be said at the right time, yes or not, I have to control the words and put them in their perfect spaces. The world runs on a parallel path, without care.
We whisper, of course, and remake all journey of our life, and start it by on her way for what the journey arrives in the aim. The pleasure must be said and evolve with life. The kiss that was contained now expands and gains lover’s airs. It is warm, more mature, more robust, and more foolish. It is abandoned and life goes on.
In fact, I am there beside her and happiness exists. The world? Ah! Now the world is pretty different from others, of course, because people live apart from us! For us no, no, everything is different and harmonious, and the sad moments are forgotten.
The wonderful world is running. We hug and stay there together, thinking, among whispers, and saying sweet things to each other.
What kind of world exists now! The sleep is coming and, who knows, in the dreams this world and these moments will go on.
Before the daylight is up through the window of my room and the moment asks for the sound of the nightingale and not the lark, the eyes are still sleeping, and the ears are listening to another sound, trying to keep these moments in the darkness. She went away, walking slowly, leaving our net, she, this crazy imagination.
After that, I feel discouragement like a storm inside me. A crude and illuminated reality etches in my mind and, at the same time, I wonder like a scar: My God, why didn’t I do these things that my imagination makes up?