Her face was covered with tears. This picture, once mottled with the purest colours of joy, was now reflecting the blurred "Black Square" of Malevich. The colours were not running anywhere but rather lay frozen, waiting for another stroke of lump in her throat to scatter the fading tinges of fire in her eyes. Her eyes! It seemed like she was staring into nowhere and at the same time looking for a way out of that tunnel of nothingness in my eyes. Her eyes... I have never seen such iris ever before. I was staring deeper and deeper into them with every passing minute. I wanted to sink into her eyes. I wanted to dive into the majestic ocean of lights and breathe the blissful water into my lungs. Her eyes! Her pupil was encircled with an imperfect shape of what seemed like a saw. Another closer look at her eyes and you would feel like orange-coloured saws started rotating. Faster and faster they were cutting through the flesh and right into the bones, sinking deeper with the needle of her look. All the light in the room was crawling behind the dark diamonds, mesmerized by the deepness and timidity of her look. The amatory, blood-red fire was trying to escape through the corner of her eyes but then found itself paralysed, along with the tears that were waiting to stream down her cheeks...wait. Wait! Concentrate. Only at her eyes. Little Saturn, shaped in a form of a cutting-edge circle blade of her eyes, was sinking deeper into every word, I was trying to speak out, leaving me speechless.
Suddenly the warm stream of tears burned the surface of her crimson blush. Like an arrow it hurried down, slightly touching her cheeks and piercing her soft reddish bow. I wipe a grey drop of water with my hand to stop the sour bites on her lips.
“Why would you even care?” she tried to say, catching the salty flux of water. "You have known me for just one day... You will not even remember me after I am gone."
“What makes you say that?” I take her hands into mine and clutch them gently. "I do care about you!"
“You all say that...” she spits out, shedding yet another tear.
"Well, I am not them. You do matter to me."
"You have known me for just one bloody day...” she says, her voice calm.
"So what? I just feel like caring about you! I have seldomly met such people like you. People I would care about! Listen, if I did not care about what is going on in your life, I would just leave you sitting here and not say anything at all."
The serenity started overcoming her. She seemed to start giving up her strength whilst the barrier of defence was disappearing along with her sorrow. She leaned on me, her carbon-black hair piercing my shoulder like poisonous viper’s fangs. I continued to breathe and put my hands behind her back, touching her soft hair, toying with it like a child, while she was still heavily breathing, tears slowly jumping onto my breast. Her hair. The smell of it. The dark and wild valley of tree-tops, reminding me of the freshest and warmest days of midsummer. You would immediately think of a huge square, hung above the quietness of the magic wilderness. Magic… Magic, drunk with the beauty and purity of the waters, flowing along the forest. What a secret it held! The secret never to be revealed to any stranger, not willing to venture to go into the forest and walk until the end. I made my first step and was willing to go until the edge of the earth. I could not stop, wondering what would be on the other side of that mysterious wonderland. It kept pinching me into the back and I could not stop the urge of hugging her even firmer, trying to forget about the itching. I could still feel her breath, warming me from the inside. She raised her head and looked into my eyes as if there were a light at the end of the mirror-tunnel, she had been looking for so long. Her cheeks were still set on fire in the form of orbs, burning crimson-amber, dancing atop her little dimples. Her eyelashes, like a couple of ocean waves, frozen in motion, were hurriedly snapping the maze of a torrent of a bitter transparent sap.
“You will not even be able to understand any of it anyway” she gasped out.
“I certainly will” I said very quietly, as if I were afraid to bother her. I was choosing my words very carefully then.
“How?” She raised her voice. “None of that has even happened to you!”
“What happened?” I was very still. “Let’s start with that point now. What exactly happened to you?”
She looked aside as if ashamed of my question. She closed her eyes, breathed in and out and turned to me.
“It happened quite some time ago” She was saying, every word sounding the way it was being snatched by the steel jaws. “And…well, he was an artist. A painter. He used to paint a lot. That was the only thing he was doing actually. He cared about nothing else, while I was there for him any time.” She started stumbling even more, fighting against the current of memories hurrying out of her mind. “He would spend hours sitting in front of a canvas, painting it like a little baby. He would not eat for days! Sometimes he even dropped dead onto the ground, scarring me crazily because of the sleep deprivation and I would carry him to bed, where he would sleep for a while. In a couple of hours he would wake up and get back to painting. He told me that he always saw something in his dreams and wanted to put it onto a piece of paper immediately. He even resorted to trying a special technique to paint everything he sees in dreams. He would sit in the chair, holding a spoon in his hand. As soon as he closed his eyes, he would dream until he had eased the grab of the spoon, which wake him up as soon as it hit the ground. He would take his brush and start painting what he dreamt about.”
Sort: Trending