For You

Have you ever been swept away?

I mean grabbed by your ankles and thrown in the air so hard that
the tip of your nose touched the first cloud?

I’m not talking about a Peter Pan kind of flight but more of an angel flight combined with a Superman one, from the days he used to fly after Lois.

And as you fly against gravity with a “v” velocity and an “a” acceleration greater than any terrestrial thing that ever cut you off, with your feet facing the sky and your eyes down looking at the ant farm below, you realize that you left behind not only the entire world. No.

Down below there’s you too. It’s you before you got yanked and thrown all the way to the border between the Milky Way and the Veggie Way. The one that is left behind together with the rest, your earthly cheap ego, the hollow and devastated man that you were, your amiable laughter, all of these will be no more when you return.

Someone else will come down… a better, nicer, responsible, smarter, saner person…one that doesn’t beat people up and you will start over. Yes, all over. The way you want it. In an orderly fashion, clinical, right as rain, elegant, with a different gaze, with different gestures, less tics, no regrets, no depressions, no tears, all in, a kamikaze of soul and spirit.

It’s one of those incredible things that you wished for since your first grasp for air but didn’t know about it till now. You didn’t know you wanted it because you knew of its existence only deep down in your demented and perverted from remorse subconscious. From things you wanted to say but you never got to.

The best thing in this programmed life is to be jerked up in the air, to see how you were supposed to live, to be slapped merciless, to be kicked in the balls, to be punched directly in your nose oriented towards the skies.

The best thing is to see yourself from above. To see yourself so little and meaningless and to realize that this is how things are and will be from now on unless you find someone to cast a spell on you.

I don’t know if I can make myself understood but I assure you after these enumerations, comparisons and metaphors there will be a solution, a revealing. Because a story without a revealing is not much of a story. Just as without a problem and a solution there is no story. There’s anything but a story.

The revelation and the epiphany of this scene are included in the most beautiful and delicate package in the world. A little box of an amberish color tied carefully with a ribbon the color of the rain at sunset and glazed with white gold. My gift was she. She had a candor, which you can find only in fairy-tale-movies or in children’s books. The word “beautiful” doesn’t help me at all.

It’s something so over-used and trivial that I wouldn’t dare to associate with all the above. She had a tenderness seen only in flowers, with cheeks of a color that you find only in nature during spring, with a tinker bell laughter, she gave you a shiver from the moment she touched you, she had a spark which will later become my aura, a kiss which made you faint. Her lips were the absolute cure-all, the philosophers’ stone that so many old, autistic and disillusioned men searched for and which I found.

My salvation came in the form of the most valuable and dreamy present. Who doesn’t like to receive presents? I’ve always wondered that. There has to be someone in this world that claims that receiving a gift doesn’t inflict a reasonable amount of pleasure. So what? These are people that never got any. I mean they got stuff but not presents. In life one single present is enough. In fact, one single present is enough for two lives. One thing I ask: that after I’m dead to be able to still remember.

I believe that whoever takes your body from you cannot be this cruel as to take your memories too. And if this is the case, then I guarantee that you can sleep in peace, like babies.

Yes, it’s true. I’m in love. I live, breathe, drink and eat the thrill that made me be me again forever. And no one can take this away from me as hard as they try. She’s mine and I don’t share, I don’t give her away, I’m actually pretty scared to talk about her for fear that she will be stolen. They’re lots of scoundrels out there who, instead of looking for their own prefer to take from other people. It’s just that, what they don’t know is once taken away love will not function the same for them too. Because it only works once and that’s it. It’s enough. You steal it and if self-destructs. What you thought you made your own has no value now taken from its environment.

It’s like making a dolphin live in an apartment. Buy it chips and sardines with sea salt and you will still not succeed. It will die no matter how hard you try. It’s the only thing you need even if you don’t know what it is.

Mean people, bumptious and envious people are the ones that never tasted the love truffle. They are alive they kiss, they laugh, they hug but they were never struck by lightning. There was nothing going through their bodies, they haven’t been changed.

If all the people would be in love we would have no troubles. Not in traffic, not at the store, not at work.

It’s a story about her, starring me and guest starring LOVE.


No comments yet, why not leave one of your own?

Leave a Comment or Share Your Story

Please Sign In. Only community members can comment.

SMITH Magazine

SMITH Magazine is a home for storytelling.
We believe everyone has a story, and everyone
should have a place to tell it.
We're the creators and home of the
Six-Word Memoir® project.