“One is the loneliest number.That you´ll ever do.
Two, can be as bad as one, it´s the loneliest number since the number one”.
One, written by Harry Nilsson.
That day, she knew it.
Last time she had felt badly. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat anything. She had smoked a lot of cigarettes. She felt a deep anguish inside herself. Who was she? She couldn’t stop asking this question.
Where is the smart pretty girl, whose parents had said about her “she was born speaking”? She couldn’t find her. She had been a funny girl. She had been interested in different things. She could enjoy her life intensely. Her childhood had been a wonderful world where she could find everything she wanted. She still remembered her old bedroom, her private world. There, everything was possible. It was full of little dolls. She spent a long time playing with them, imagining her future. She was going to marry a handsome man when she would be twenty four; she was going to have two children; a nice house. She was going to have a wonderful life when she got older… Her dolls…Where had she left them? Where had she left everything she had loved? She didn’t know.
Now she enjoyed keeping in silence. A lot of things had happened during her life. Whoever had known her in another time, couldn’t recognize her. Later she couldn’t do it either. Time went by, then she had changed. She didn’t have her usual laugh anymore. Still she went on being a very sensible person. But, of course, she had a different look on her face. What kind of look? She couldn’t be sure about it. One day her life had been cut. Never ever could she turn back to the past time. Something important from her had been lost, definitely. She couldn’t be sure about the meaning of her lost either. She couldn’t find words to explain it. Words had got rid of her. She would have to do without them. Her dumb mind was in charge of her life. She couldn’t even reach a word to say about her feelings.
That day she had gone to shopping, but she could never buy anything such kind of days. She had spent her time walking along the streets looking for something she didn’t know what really was. She looked as if she needed an unknown thing. She kept in silence, alone. She couldn’t even realize what she was thinking about. Different images were passing around her mind. She felt so confused. It was a rainy afternoon. The sky was full of deep clouds. The atmosphere inside her soul was deeper than it was outside. She came in a little store. If she had found something, she would have bought it. But nothing had been ready made for her. She went on walking under the storm. She was going through one indeed. She was beginning to feel wet. Maybe she could clean her own hurts in this way. Could she? Unaware of everything she met herself walking back home.
She got home and looked for something to do. She couldn’t find anything.
In spite of her intention, nothing changed. She was over. She was giving in. She was feeling alone, and she really was. The flat was in a complete silence. It seemed as if everything there were dead. Everything was in the same place she had left it, like objects in a museum. Her own life had become like one. Everything was as tidied up as without life. The wooden floor with its white carpet showed it enough. In spite of the pure color it kept so clean…The purple curtain had lost its brightness. The bookcase was full of different books she had never read once. It was dark there. She turned the table lamp on. The yellow bulb covered everything with its light. Then everything seemed to be in a sepia picture. It could have been a very old picture if she hadn’t been in it.
The old Remington was as dirty as the desk where it was. She had kept as far as possible from it. She had it since she was a kid. In those days she used to write about her feelings. She could travel through different worlds. She could go out of her own life. She had done it for a long time until that day, when everything changed in her life. Since then, she had never used it anymore. She had left it alone.
She would never know why she sat in front of it. She began to write her feelings down. She spent a couple of hours writing. The white page wasn’t there any longer. Had it been there anytime? It had vanished. She felt surprised when she found it out. How had these unexpected words showed up on the surface- page? Where had they been before? Had they been there waiting for a discovery? Or, maybe they had not existed until they had been created. She didn’t know anything about their existence. Nevertheless she could meet herself among them. Not in a complete way. She was meeting with a dark side of herself. She had not any knowledge about it until that moment. How freak! She couldn’t understand what had happened.
Afterwards she felt better. The light had begun to change slowly. The colors inside too.
She had got rid of her confused images. She had put her anguish away.
She knew it that day. Words could become something different.
Luckily.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario