A Story

 

And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone
Sara Teasdale

 
The city looked like a chess board and this time I was playing black. It was my turn and I slipped into a cobble stone street between the buildings. If I had not been there, the street would be empty but you were there too and if there is any power in the world to forget the way your heart beats, give me that power. There is not such power… yet, there is a different kind, more known as glam. Something like magic but not exactly. It takes a second to perform it, it is like being electrocuted or like mixing two ingredients in a chemistry class you know full well you are not supposed to mix.  You know they do not belong together, that it will be disastrous and there will be a reaction but you still mix them because of boredom and curiosity which is in itself a dangerous chemical mix.
 
I never liked chemistry at school and, to be honest, it never liked me either. However, I might not like chemistry but I do like magic. With magic you can never tell whether it likes you or not. It free falls, circles around, disappears into the thin air and appears again in another from.
 
***
 
We do not enter lives of other people, most of the time we break in. I know we tend not to think good of robbers but they might also be good people. I suppose we have to feel empty after “break ins” as such but sometimes it works exactly on the contrary, somehow you get more. Is it because they took everything you did not know how to throw away but you always wanted to.
 
It is a new green day. I am sure all river gods and spirits are happy. Sun- butter light is coming through my window, sun light that I do not really like with its inquiring intensity. I can always draw the curtains but I am not that kind of person.
 
I cheer myself up by making breakfast, drinking coffee slowly and taking time with everything that normally takes me 5 minutes to do. It does not feel right but it feels weekend –like. The thoughts seem to be light but words somehow make them heavy, like putting stones in the bag made out of organza.
 
All I need is a little glam and then I can erase the previous night, the chess board, the heart beat. I take a piece of paper to fold a paper heart and yet, even paper cuts. I wonder if a paper cut can leave a scar. I hate weekends for so many reasons I cannot name even one. I unfold the paper and fold it again, is that what they tell you to do  to regain your balance with the world and within yourself. I fold it differently but the lines from the previous shape are still there, here you are! a living proof of paper scars, nothing really goes away, paper folded will never be a neat while sheet again. I make a plane, a bird and a heart again. It looks wrinkled but somehow happy, not wrinkled and old but it seems to enjoy being folded and unfolded again.
 
Paper hearts do not break but they burn, they do not beat but they cut, they are not even red, they are just blank. I look outside of the window, the light is still the same, the coffee has gone cold. When someone says : “my coffee has gone cold”, it feel like something dramatic must have happened. Cold coffee image… everyday little dramas, nothing out of ordinary, nothing to write home about.  Yesterday, I was a black queen on the chess board, today I am a white pawn, does not this happen to everyone? If I had not been there, would you still be there? It is something like magic but not exactly, it is a glam, I still like the effect of this word. Glam! And the lights are lit. Glam! And your coffee is hot again. Glam! And you are not alone. Glam! And you are alone when you want it. Glam! And you are gone to return when you want to be back. Glam! And the piece of paper is not wrinkled anymore. Glam! And I forget the heart beat. Glam, glam, glam, I guess it does not work every time.

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