luni, 1 martie 2010

breathing again...

And I felt I was breathing again... the same sweet air we were breathing last year. I felt I was breathing again when you couldn't breathe. Isn't this ironic? We were both waiting patiently for me to breathe again, and now that I finally came back from my 'trip', when I was there, breathing, feeling again, opening my heart and waiting to receive, to live again, you were absent... On my way back I saw you leaving, going away slowly, painfully and I couldn't shout, couldn't stop you because now I know how it's like to go away when everybody, including yourself, needs you...
We sat on the same bench, same coffee and cigarettes, but different books, perspectives, visions. For one moment – one fleeting, evanescent moment –, I felt like being the same again. I didn't feel all that pain again. I was free... I was beginning to breathe again when you were choking to death. Isn't this ironic?

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