Ana María Gregorio

Behind the window

     I was bound to my chair, but I never missed an
 appointment. Every morning, invariably,
for one year at the same
 hour I opened my window to see him pass
and that cheered up my day.
     I lived for that fleeting moment. I looked at him
 behind the curtains, until his figure
got lost among the park's
 trees. My worn-out heart revived when
his face approached, noble,
 serene, so foreign and so mine.
      He was very elegant and almost always used gray
 with his right hand, he held an ivory
handled old cane, with the
 other a book and a pipe that he smoked
with a placid expression,
 flooding his surroundings including my
room, with a chocolate
 scent. The smoke joined the warmth of an
exotic and sensual
 fragrance, which I imagined a mixture of
tobacco and a pinch of
 musk and cardamom. After he went away, I
closed my window so his
 perfume would stay with me until the
next day.
      Even his way of walking attracted me, rhythmic
and placid,
 instilling me peace. Sometimes he
stopped to look at the sky, the
 tree leaves or he talked to the boys who
were playing at the street.
      Today it's been one month he stopped passing by;
I waited
 for him until yesterday, but my breath
gets short and I already
 can't get up of bed.
       It does not matter. The loneliness has
gone away; I’m
 accompanied by his image, his eyes so
blue and his completely
 white, disheveled and thin hair.
       I’m in the hurry to go away: who knows?
Perhaps he’s
 waiting for me at the end of the road.



Toutes les droites appartiennent à son auteur Il a été publié sur par la demande de Ana María Gregorio.
Publié sur sur 29.05.2012.


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