A walk

We are walking side by side. Me noisily on my heels, trying to keep up with your step, hair stirred by the strong wind. You, tall and imposing next to me, are smiling your unsure smile. And we talk. We talk of love, of choices, of ideas, of what we’re looking for in this life and how we’re going to get it. We talk about our past, and laugh at how similarly agitating our fate – the kind that doesn’t exist – is.

We are walking side by side. Me fragile as a shell, trying not to expose myself, with feelings mixed and obscured. You, decisive and firm next to me, puzzled. And we still talk. We talk of emotions, of break-ups, of the notion of individuality; of how miserable it is to find a person that thinks like you – even though it is wonderful in reality – and of how we’re going to keep each other in our lives. We make choices, and laugh at how awfully human we are – because in the end, we’re exactly like everyone else.

We are walking side by side. Me on the verge of tears, trying to make the right decision, with a thunderstorm of confusion inside. You, scared and quiet next to me, unyielding. And we still talk. We communicate unspoken, or rather unspeakable tender balls of warmth, until something violent erupts within us and we lose control. Now, we talk with our bodies because our mouths are busy uttering noiseless sounds of pleasure, our hands discover the dents of our hearts and our legs are intertwined in a symphony of freedom. And then we laugh at how silly we’ve been all this time – and it’s so funny because it’s true.

We are walking side by side. Me lost in the turmoil of thoughts concerning your touch, trying shake off the intensity of the images. You, shy and amazed next to me, intoxicated. And we still talk. Until I turn to you and coyly say “Dear, I am out of breath… Can we rest for a while?” and you with a kind glace point at a bench on which we’ll write our own private history. Because this bench belongs to us and no-one else.