Ashley and Dylan - Spikes of wax *
It seemed like a farewell, at the time.
The landing was the same as always and Mike brought the usual signs of an evening spent playing - Ash felt his body torn between the desire to close my eyes and lean forward. Clinging to his shoulders, press the lips on the mouth. Neck.
not let him leave.
Nothing different from the night before or any other time: the man was leaving for a trip of two days, basically. One blink and he would return.
Ash was convinced seriously. For this reason, perhaps, had laughed at the time to greet him.
Only that morning the sun hurt your eyes, when he had revealed the head from the blanket to grab the phone kept ringing. And Chris's voice was played too much alarm.
too concentrated, active.
"I called Dee," he began, abruptly. "Something happened, I have to pick it up. Him back home. "
Everything had changed in that time. The sunlight, the colors of the blankets - the size of the room and his own skin. The meaning of the word house had shrunk to one syllable and the lips had not been able to articulate anything else. We had managed the brain.
"Dee?"
Ash was shot down, too fast. His head throbbed as if he had stayed enough - as if he had overslept, no, a lifetime - and felt the blood beating in his temples. The heart burst.
"He's fine. Shit, Ash, nothing happened. I asked. "Chris kept talking, but every word came from as far away. Too far away. "A casino with the boy he saw, I think, I explained everything. However, I am going to put me in the car. I just wanted to warn you. "
" You okay? "He had repeated, confused.
In response, the friend had expired. Slowly.
"Scene mother, yeah. Do you know how to take, in these cases. And being so far away does not help. "
Ash would have liked to ask more questions. Ask exactly what the hell it meant 'a mess with the guy who saw' - ask this guy who was - and ask him to refresh his memory, because after all those months, even the memory of the writer for his brother seemed to have faded, but her voice was like a shard of glass stuck in my throat: only a few sounds filtered through the barrier.
"Thanks," she whispered. It did not even know what exactly the same credits, if you for staying with him when he needed it, though to be ready to run from Dylan to offer support. To have the strength to fulfill a responsibility that should have been his, instead - his only. To do so in his place.
Closing her eyes, shook his head.
"Ash. Are you okay? "
Chris sounded worried, suddenly, and he shrugged. Getting rid of the blankets with a kick, he leaned down to earth. Let the cold penetrate the tiles in the bones.
"Sure. Are you going now? "
" Yes. If you want to pace yourself for a moment, before ... "The reply was immediate. "Maybe it's better if you go to see if Mike is around, though. Or give him a phone call or ... "
" Sure, "he had repeated, nodding. Only while
ended the conversation had reached the understanding that Mike was not around, however. What was the other side of the continent - perhaps California - and it would be two days before his return. That perhaps, for some reason confused that it made no sense but at that time the only certainty seemed to palpable, would not even come back.
The rest of the day had passed quickly. Ten minutes had lost them still remain standing in the middle of the room, trying to remember how it was that world before Dylan rimuovesse his presence.
He had picked up the clothes scattered on the ground, he had checked one by one, folded, stacked in the closet without stopping to think about why tidying appeared suddenly a must must.
had assembled the so-called scattered on the desk, picked up the scores that were scattered on the floor, perhaps even before his departure. He had changed, carefully choosing to wear jeans. Calmly putting on his shirt.
Then, his gaze fell on the bed. And he had not thought absolutely nothing while methodical movements to change the sheets.
was strange, somehow. Turn between those rooms where he lived for a year to examine them through the eyes of a stranger - trying to rearrange things to make everything as comfortable as possible. Dylan back because he could find at least that.
to apologize, maybe. Of solitude to which he had forced.
It hurt to think about, though - stop and think about the feelings, the reasons - and it was much easier to put on a portfolio in your pocket and go to retrieve food that her brother as a kid always forced him to buy. Cluttering the fridge and the house of the things he said about the tirassero - the did a good mood.
He had not really stopped to decide what to do with himself until the second phone call from Chris - the one where the friend had informed that they have arrived safely, and all goes well, he's good, it's like I said tonight and I'll stop here, however, come tomorrow .
Why was different to know that Dylan would come, from knowing that he was returning . The two processes require different mental thoughts, different preparations. Different reactions.
Ash had felt the shard of glass slide more deeply when he realized that in less than twenty-four hours his brother would be there, ready to pick up all the spaces that had given him. That did not claim anything for sure, because Dylan is not the kind that order. He does not ask either. But it deserves only the best.
It was a little 'how to return the fifteenth birthday and Cathy discover that in his absence, Chris and Dylan had moved along a step forward. A little 'as not being able to watch them and find their place - slamming the door behind him and run to look for oxygen in the park.
take months to digest it all.
Sometimes the impression is not to have succeeded again in earnest - that he never really believed that they both have chosen to take back to each other, they are still waiting for their change of heart. Close your eyes for a day, open them, and find himself alone.
Perhaps this is just after you press the end call button Ash had put his jacket and had fallen up the stairs - this was first climbed on the bus headed for home. Because the apartment was ready to accept Dylan but he could not move around in it, because the bed had clean sheets and he knew he could not close my eyes anyway.
Her parents had been asking questions: they were limited to open the door and put a plate on the table more. There was something sweet in the evening with them, watching an old film to television, as sweet as it was terrible the lack of Dylan in the same room.
As if being just there, where they had been together forever, was a thousand times worse than being alone in private.
awake in bed when he was a child and not find his brother sleeping next to you is completely different from doing the same gesture in a bare room of memories. With bare walls instead of overflowing with posters and clippings, with the objects of an adult life already structured in two distinct worlds, instead of covering woven inextricably linked.
Ash remembers the loneliness of their fifteen years. Remember ferocious anger towards Chris, the inability to show herself to Dylan. Talk to him.
I'm nothing compared to this expectation that suddenly dripping in hours too long. Compared to this impossibility of imagining a new match.
balance their separate existences.
Let them proceed without forcing them to converge.
The last time her brother looked into his eyes, was to prepare for the shock of a slap on the face. The last time they talked, his words have melted into nightmares.
Now that is coming back, he does not know what to expect.
His mother is washing the cups in the kitchen, when the reaches. He wears a large golf, thick wool, and wears her hair stopped behind the neck with a soft knot. Seen from that angle, has the same profile of Dylan. Its very lightweight distracted - misleading.
"I thought you were at work," Ash murmured, closing his hand around the door frame. The woman lifts her head, smiling. Quickly dries your hands - when you look at him.
"by later today," responding. Frowns. "Love, are you okay? You look horrible ... "
" I'm not used to that mattress, "mind him. "I do not know how I sleep, as a child."
had forgotten how tiring to keep the mask up, in certain circumstances. When the exhausted is easier, because the looks of concern or reprimand him slip without damaging it in any way, but when reality seems to burn my eyes so this is becomes impossible to pretend to ignore the concentration with which his mother how its actions .
fingers tremble slightly, making coffee and open the fridge looking for milk, and the heart seems to beat just under the skin.
A thin barrier. Almost non-existent.
"What time Dee again today?" Finally comes the question.
He supports the board on the table, very carefully.
"I do not know. I forgot my phone at home, I have not heard Chris. "
At fourteen he had become good at dodging interviews with his parents. Perhaps it helped that Dee was a tidal wave while the problem was to simply be a sea too calm - perhaps the fact that they were entering had something to do both in adolescence and are therefore not so strange sudden mood swings.
long silence.
Perhaps it was only an actor better than now. More determined not to be discovered.
But neither her mother nor her father had never had any suspicion that something was wrong with Brad - had not noticed the watches of the night nor of his need to increase the distances. Ash does not remember ever having heard his secret in danger has never been afraid of having to face.
Now, the conversation seems to hover in the air instead. Hanging over them like rain - like a crack in the ceiling.
"Ash."
He bites his lip.
"Ash, honey. Me and Dad we have always left room - We tried not to intrude among you, not to stay there on him. But recently we were really worried. "
" There is nothing to worry about. We're just growing. "
" You and Dee you have never been so kind to grow apart, "she corrects him, gently. He slams the mug on the table - almost burns his fingers when the overflowing coffee.
"Well, people change. Sai. Growing up means that , usually. "
" Do you think so? "
is an innocent question, almost tender in his look so simple. Accessible.
Ash feels on the skin vibrate and infiltrated in the clothes, though - he feels in his ears and slip wrap around nerves, sharpen.
not answer.
months because they can not answer that really does not understand anything - months that will examine the most improbable hypothesis that knows how to justify looking for some explanation Dylan, his behaviors. He thought he could be the fault of Chris, Mike's fault. That could be something that had happened elsewhere, when he was not looking - which was born of the resentment that his inattention. By its being too present.
He tried to give them space. He tried to stay close. There was no use
the same: the weeks continued, encrusted with silence, until they arrived on the evening of the slap. As long as there was on the run, the next day.
Without the slightest warning.
Without even a greeting.
Children who did not know ten years to put more than a few feet away from each other are long since faded, but Ash is now difficult to even look in the mirror and recognize in the reflection that the teenager was. At fifteen, Dee never tried his eyes, but did not allow him even to leave.
the two decades that the hit that last night did not seem able to imagine nothing better than a world in which it was not forced to meet him at every turn instead. E perhaps the only possible explanation is that when Dylan was realized that this world could never find in New York, decided to take in hand the destiny of their own history and to transfer to another place.
now is coming home. True.
But is not coming from him. He never had any intention of doing so.
And probably that's why Ash Wednesday while tidying up the apartment they could not find a place where to place himself. It is not easy, when all around there are only a remnant of another time items.
double epoch, which was still trying to convince to have a single body.
"Maybe I should go back to sleep here tonight," murmured, without turning to look at her mother.
In response, a heavy silence.
"I mean," he continues, embarrassed. "Dylan will need a place to stay, no? A quiet place. Maybe Chris could stay with him, has always been good to have around. It would not be forever, "he adds, because he can almost feel the woman's protest - his alarm. "Only for a while '. A few days. Time to replace the ideas, find some solution ... "
For a moment, his mother says nothing. Ash
counting seconds between breaths and is almost ready to withdraw all - find another way to say that it does not matter, do not worry too much - when, finally, comes the sound of a sigh.
"Ash. We are always here, you know. You do not even ask. "
Slowly, she leans on the table. Rests his hand on his - on the back palm. Light caress on the knuckles, delicate as a kiss.
"If things are too tense, one of you can come and stay here until you can solve. And anytime you feel like talking, we are available. You know it. But I really believe that we must strive to clarify what happened and to make peace. Because it is true that people change, but you is not changed enough to do without your brother. "
He hesitates, then. Just bend your fingers.
"And believe me, Ash. The same goes for Dylan. "
Remove the arm is instinctive.
Ash does not even stop and think - there's no time to decide on the action, there is no time even to rationally process the concept. The chair has already rubbed on the floor and he is standing, watching from his mother.
has green eyes, note. As if that were not ever see them, because basically they are the eyes of Dylan.
"I gotta go."
"At home?"
"No. A job. "
is an escape that, too, knows perfectly. The speed with which leaves the kitchen, the movements with which wears the jacket. The front door open before it is even buttoned.
is an escape.
been years since Ash does nothing, basically. Has always managed to escape fine.
should have anticipated that Dylan would have been able to overcome this.
"Ash."
"What?"
standing in the doorway, his mother is looking more seriously than before.
He realizes only then - suddenly, in that light - it looks tired too, after all. The lips have a smooth curve, painful, and the front is marked by fine lines, foreign. It has no color on the cheeks.
A sad pallor. Lunar.
looks to me too, thinks Ash. For a moment, it's almost enough to convince him to stay.
"Then you go home. Do not put off again. Or will it be increasingly difficult. "
a respirator. Then, almost as a blessing, she smiles.
and he nodded, bowing his head. Bending down to kiss her.
"I'll call you tonight."
He can not even say whether it is an empty promise or a deep need - felt. In the face of his mother always feels a bit 'like a child time looking for reassurance that only the future could have made in vain, waiting for some word of clarification.
It has more than eight years, though - it's been a lifetime since then. And the promises of his parents have stopped playing so true: they are no longer blindly believe in predictions, but only hope you can help.
When he stops in front of the door of his apartment - on the same floor where only forty-eight hours before he gave the last kiss to Mike, totally oblivious to - the temptation is strong to turn around and disobey.
building, note the handle: try to imagine her brother's fingers closed on the metal, the tinkling of the keys turned in the lock while he was pushing forward with the knee. Its entry distracted, maybe - just maybe intimidated - and prays with all his strength that has already happened a few hours before. What
not touch back again in a deserted house, because he is sure that would not be able to resist building between those walls. Alone. Pending.
See Chris's jacket hanging all'attaccapanni entry is a relief that freezes the blood: breath stopped in his throat and he has to force himself to take a deep breath.
to lift our gaze forward, preparing for the worst.
Dylan is sitting in the chair.
building, back straight - and stuck his hands clasped between his legs, as if he had still six years and the same teacher announcing those chosen for the query.
Their eyes do not have time to cross that jumps up, though - a nervous movement, sudden.
Clearing his throat, Ash lowered his head.
"Hey," he says softly. "You're here."
"We arrived an hour ago," Chris nods, from its position near the window. "Were you at work?"
He dares to throw a look, nodding.
"Everything went well?" Question still his friend - and it is clear the question implied, was not even necessary to do it. Ash knows he looked ghostly, almost evanescent even a couple of customers asked him if he felt good.
Sure, he answered then. Now he just nods again, before you catch your breath and turn around slowly.
"Hello, Dylan."
seems impossible to think that months have passed since the last time I saw it. He spent his entire life to watch, record every tiny detail of her face and compare it with his own reflection - for use as a reference, benchmark, yardstick - and now it's surreal being unable to say where they have been engraved certain changes.
is thinner than when he left, Dylan - more tired.
is perhaps even more pale and his eyes very red, even she had been crying for days. The first instinct - and almost ancestral unreasonable - would rush to tighten, not so much to fill the void that seems to expand in him every second, but just to give you comfort. Support.
Soon thereafter, however, the brain also processes other details: the position even more tense shoulders, the look that runs somewhere in the room as if he lacked the strength to meet Ash.
As if there was courage, perhaps. Or maybe just the intention.
"Hello ..." comes the whisper, finally.
And the voice is more fragile than before: the last time he heard it was broken, yes, but vibrating with anger can not be muted. Now is dim, however. Almost retained.
Ash is not sure of being able to resist. The only question is which one will be the first to succumb.
"You have done a good trip?" Demand, uncertain, putting his hands in his pockets.
you feel stupid, embarrassed as he happened not long ago. Out of place, unable to choose a location and unable to leave.
The fact that the picture is his house only makes the whole even more absurd.
"Are you tired? You want something to eat? There is stuff in the fridge, or ... "
" Ash. Why do not you sit down, instead of staying there into the INPUT to lie? "Question Chris, with the reasonable tone that is usually used when someone is behaving like a hysterical. He licked his lips, considering the sofa.
Then he shakes his head.
"No, I think I better go."
The brain seems stuck in a continuous loop.
"What are you going?"
"A change." Pause. "Do I have a shower."
prefer to give them away and get back on the street, reality: it would be easier for everyone and more comfortable. Outside there would be heaven to breathe - there would be traffic, and smells of the street and the cacophony of people that makes it easier to live with their heads - and Dylan could sit back in his chair.
Lie on the bed, maybe. Or relax your body and ease tension in the bathroom, under the jet of hot water.
If you did not have the mathematical certainty that Chris did not let him get out of the way - at least not now - Ash would not hesitate. It would be too automatic decision.
Let the bedroom door closes behind his exit, however, stops just beyond the threshold and inhales deeply. Hold your breath for a moment, as if it were enough to hold everything else.
to exhale after. Freeing the body and lungs in one fell swoop.
"There is that saying you're doing a great job of convincing me that you're fine."
Pulling back her hair with her fingers, Ash sighs, without looking back.
"I'm not trying to convince you," he says, dryly. "He is like? It is in a sorry state. What the fuck did that guy? "
" The guy is the least part of the problem at the moment, "admits Chris, grabbing his shoulder. "You have to give it some 'time, ok?"
biting his lip, he nods.
"I asked my mom said I can stay with them a few days if needed. Or I could go back on your couch ... Alan had not evicted me forever, right? "
" I said you have to give him time, Ash, you need not leave the house. "
" It was a fuckin 'board until now, has need to sit quiet. Sleep. It seems that has not slept since he's gone ... "
" Ash ... "The close on his shoulder bolts - Chris is strength, trying to make it turn. When
raises his other hand to touch his face, he pushes him away by moving a step backwards.
"No, ok? Do not touch me. "
" You are really asshole when you want to be tough, you know? "Hisses my friend, frustrated. "It costs so much to admit that you need someone?"
"I just want you to put stroking, dick. It is asking too much? "
Chris still has his hand raised - just bend the fingers, as if uncertain or lie close at hand - and seems about to say something.
Snarling, perhaps, because in such moments the two of them were never able to talk simply.
Ash can almost feel its close to be too painful on the shoulder - sees his eyes Squinting, how to improve prospects - and tightens the muscles in response. He raises his arm to get rid of the socket.
The image of her brother standing in the doorway to block the middle movement, however, and all of a sudden irritation melts. Evaporates.
"Dylan," he murmurs, eyes wide - and possibly lose the balance if Chris had not reflected much the same spot and you do not already rushing to support it.
For a moment, all three seem to stand still: Ash keeps staring into that of Dylan and Chris continues to hold his right hand closed on his shoulder, the left in midair.
Then, with a little 'embarrassment, her brother looks away - change the support foot - and the time starts to run as fast as ever.
He takes a step back in a hurry - Chris lets him go.
"Why do not you talk about it together?" Suggests, almost gently, and after months of silence that perspective is so foreign Ash turns to look at him blankly.
"Seriously," the friend added, raising his eyebrows. "Maybe not jump to hasty conclusions."
not wait for answer, then - time to realize the meaning of his words and has already turned its back on them and left. When passing
at his side, Dylan seems to be trying to restrain him: he opens his mouth as if to speak, raises an arm to grab his sleeve. Both attempts are simple sketches, but - lacking the determination to continue them, perhaps, or maybe there is just resignation.
Moreover, even Ash knows, that can not be avoided forever.
Sooner or later, in any case they should talk.
put his hands in his pockets, looks downcast eyes of his brother - his throat clearing, change position again. Then, Dylan looks up: slowly, cautiously.
almost fearful.
And Ash has no idea what it is, to scare him so much: after twenty years should know that whatever he wants, all he wanted was to talk to her. The
just ask.
Explain.
not get any request, however - no indication: only his eyes, fixed upon him, and the silence that lies between them by puncturing the skin. Making it even more tense, more subtle.
"Mom said to call her," feels finally say - from his voice.
It is a relief for a moment the very act of breaking the silence - a relief to get back space, back to slide the time. Soon after, with the knowledge that Dylan is that he is speaking brings panic.
"Actually, I had said that I called, "then added, quickly, because now started and maybe this could be enough to convince Chris that you do not need anything else. "This evening. To tell if you were back. But maybe it's better if you do it in the end I only saw me this morning, probably would prefer to be able to hear you all ask directly. "Pause. "I mean, it makes little sense that ..."
"Ash, listen ..." interrupts him, however, Dylan.
He shut up immediately.
His brother seems to have a better idea of some time ago, continues to keep their eyes downcast, his back pressed firmly against the wall. And it is still pale and tired.
Uncertain.
"Listen, I ... There are things I have to tell you," goes on very quietly. "I mean, I want you to know. Important things. "
Suddenly, raises his eyes to look.
"Can I talk?"
At any other time, so the answer would be obvious to make it burst out laughing now, Ash has almost afraid to nod. After
, long before his brother decides to get started.
seems that he has never seen before that room, judging by the care it takes to map the space - the indecision of the looks that border on just the furniture, the bed, the determination almost scary which prevents any unnecessary movement.
There is something profoundly disturbing in the sense Dylan so foreign to what only a few months ago was their world: they are two days that Ash feels the nausea mount, but it is only at this precise moment - but feels his brother's sliding ever more away and wait for the revelations that might give a meaning to everything that has happened - that really has the feeling of losing stars.
Dylan's voice, when it finally arrives, he does jump.
looked up suddenly.
"that night. When I ... "
breath, the more biting his lip.
"When I pulled the slap, "ending up in a hurry as to leave behind the memory.
And now continues, with almost no pull breath: "I was terrible, I would have liked. Did not mean it. I'm sorry. I mean, not that I mind as something that you feel only guilt, Ash. Just like a terrible thing. One thing that you can not even think. Like when the snake bit you. In the same way. "
building in front of him, Ash blinked.
Why is confusing under the avalanche of words which is submerged - because everything he expected, as the first argument, except to see revived the slap. Because what he says his brother still does not have any sense and the attempt to rationalize it might take too much effort: he already feels the vertigo throb at the temples. Nausea
be more solid - the strangled voice.
Dylan is watching him as if he had said something very important, though - as if it were absolutely necessary for an answer. For this nods, uncertainly.
"Ok," he says. And then, as a syllable by itself does not seem enough, "Okay. I did not think I did that on purpose, anyway. "
" Yes ... "
Dylan continues to bite his lip nervously.
"Then, I also wanted to tell you that I did not go away because of yours, Ash. You are not concerned. "
And that, the moment when the heart seems to stop.
in which the throat closes completely, the brain shuts down, the dizziness and pressure on the temples to crush him and almost feel my knees give way.
balance - balance any - miss.
Because Dylan is lying.
He's lying in the same manner in which innocent always deceiving others and himself - in the same way sometimes said to be in love with the same look with which sometimes I ask your forgiveness.
Without any malicious intent. Without even a real awareness - without a real goal. And
terrible realizing it.
Why not just as to exclude all alternative possibilities to find themselves in unbearable truth that one hand. It is not simply sense, fear is not a question of knowing with intimate knowledge, unexplained.
is a certainty now.
And Ash is not really prepared to deal with that. Thought to have reflected on the question long enough to have convinced; believed esserselo repeated often enough to have immunized.
be found on Dylan's face is a different type of pain. And is different still read between the lines, to accept a lie.
Swallowing, nods.
not know exactly what you have in mind to do, when he murmured, "Okay."
"And then."
His brother does not leave him time to decide, however: perhaps he understood to have been exposed, perhaps it is simply not made on behalf of convincing him, but he looks more uncertain than before when he resumed speaking. When
hesitates, as searching for words.
"The things I said. I thought not. Are not true. I know I do not believe me, Ash, but ... "
Dylan crashes, running a hand over his forehead.
has the same look when he was little and it seems even more remote - even more tired.
He would almost say that there is no need to continue - that may stop now, resting, then who better to speak - but the voice seems to have completely went away and the brain is hard.
Distracted.
"I did not want to go," Dylan finally mutters, barely. "I did not even come back and upside-down on all these things because I know you do not know how to deal with and you just do that and casino so you do not believe a single word. I mean, I know I messed up again all my life and that maybe I should shut up but if not I'm sorry it seemed unfair and I apologize if it seems unfair and I do not know what to do and say, sorry. Shit, " concludes. Dashing out of the room.
Ash stands still in the same place, though - his gaze fixed on the point of the wall that was occupied by a few seconds before Dylan and the blood beating in his temples. Too strong.
in his ears. Almost deafening.
not the slightest idea what it would be right to do.
know that Dylan was expecting something different from them - knows that he hoped to get a reaction and more convinced, perhaps, to see him react. Speak.
has the strange feeling of having disappointed again, but it's all distant. Almost immaterial.
He wanted to cry, maybe. Close your eyes and do nothing but sleep.
slowly raises hands to press the palms on the eyelids - almost rubbing furiously, trying to send back the tears.
"Ash."
"Do not ask me if I'm right," he says, lowering her arms suddenly.
Chris shakes his head, crossing the threshold of the room with the same bold steps with which he has always invaded any crisis in their lives - does not stop to ask permission, before closing his fingers behind his head. He leaves
draw near - his nose pressed against his throat.
Breathe, once, before lifting his face to give you just rub over the lips.
"Want me to accompany from yours?" Asks his friend, ear. "Dee was locked in the bathroom, maybe it's better if I tried to reason."
"That's what I said earlier," Ash mutters, nodding. "You had to listen to me now."
"I was hoping to go a bit 'better," admitted another.
And the point is, after all, Chris has always been too high expectations that are reflected in reality only by chance. Ash is a life that is being drawn around her from that damn optimism five years ago was go to bed convinced that his brother would not have changed anything in their relationship, three years ago he decided that he could not do it a kiss. He opened the door to his accommodation Mike, for that very reason, and Ash has her arms because so what could go wrong?
Now is sliding his hands down his back, and does not seem to regret having forced the confrontation. He's already planning the next move, perhaps - reflecting on what strategy would lend itself to its intent.
Turning his head, Ash pressed his cheek against his shoulder. Breathe deeply.
"he remains with you tonight?" Question, almost gently.
"Do not worry about Dylan now." Take a step back, Chris closes his fingers around his arm. "Come on, I'll give you a ride."
"What's my story? Mom had said that ... "
" What you must try, "interrupts his friend, leading out of the room. "And you tried. Dylan is here now, and there's no hurry. Better than trying to unwind. "
And he would protest, perhaps, for dragging their feet on the ground when the hand of Chris presses on the back is a deep rooted instinct now, all my life, but the floor seems to be too far in that time. Close are the walls, doors, ceilings. The world, out into the street, is too broad and he feels closed in on itself, again.
hidden somewhere inside her body - as small as a grain of wheat, just as fragile. Tough. And only
.
Even with the warm hand of Chris around the shell - even with the knowledge that his brother still feel like a breath of wind.
next to him. As
wounded.
distance are staggered for strength and it does not matter to count the steps that separate you from the rest of the world. Those who could bring you something nice. Because if fatigue around you as it thickens the air and holds you vacuum, lacking the possibility to extend the arm.
Tap with your finger that you're watching - crouch beside him. Into it.
The only thing left to do is put one foot before the other because someone who knows enough to protect Thee can take you to a different shelter - to go home and take care not to look in the mirror. In the absence
not find it in your eyes.
not hear in the wind - in the condensation on the glass. O
which empties into the cold bones turning your body into ice. Without the past, without color. And without destiny.
LINK PART
* Yo you dolorosas Espigas de dos que enterraban a wax
paisaje de Volcanes y dos niños locos there empujaban Llorando que las de un Asesino pupilas.
(Federico García Lorca, Poeta en Nueva York - Pequeño poema infinito)
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