Dreamers

The moon that could rarely be seen among the buildings that night shone brightly in the sky, a light breeze blew gently and brought the sweet aroma of  her body towards me. She stood there leaning against the window, completely nude, contemplating the night from a far, lost in her thoughts. Where would her worries lie? What did this woman  dream of?

When the sex was good this was her normal behavior, slip out of bed and sit in front of the darkness. She would sometimes smoke, others drink, she would stay there for minutes and minutes pondering and wandering around in her own thoughts. During these moments I would never talk, just stay there in silence and stare.

At first I thought it was strange, thinking I had done or said something wrong to induce such behavior. As time went by I got used to the ritual. I’d normally limit myself to admiring such a beautiful silhouette while I got lost in my own daydreams until falling into a calm and serene sleep.

But that night, before I could completely fall asleep, she turned to me, looked me in the eye, her body slightly bristled by the breeze and lit by the moonlight. She looked even more beautiful than usual. Her serene expression turned slightly doubtful and her defiant posture reminded me of a Sphinx who in an indifferent manner proposed: Decipher me or  I will devour you.

Deep inside I knew this moment would come, and that all that thinking would culminate to conclusion that I would inevitably discover. I wasn’t sure of the topic or matter, but I knew it would have implications upon my person. She was there rigid like a statue made of alabaster, staring me down. The next move was mine, and it would be key to the future of our relationship.

Today a realize that the best choice would have been to simulate a deep sleep, instead of an innocent “what’s wrong baby?”  She slowly and serenely approached me and coldly asked what was love to me. It was a captious question, one of those that have no right or wrong answer. My first thought was to answer that it was an illusion, a fantasy that we created and looked for to feel better about ourselves. But at the last minute I gave in, and opted for the more romantic alternative about the compatibility of souls. Shortly after she maliciously asked me if I loved her, question to which I promptly responded with an effusive yes. At this point I was already half devoured by the fascinating mythological creature, but I only realized it when the third question came “So why don’t you act as you have described?”.

I tried to argument as I could, clumsily and with a high level of disconnect I must confess. But she was inflexible in her conclusion, she stated that I was platonic and incongruent, that I idealized reality and practiced something completely different. Basically, I lived in world completely disconnected from reality and that in that way I was harming her. At that moment I stopped dead on my tracks and the reality of the situation came to me: “Fuck! The dreamer is an empiricist”.

Translated by Amanda Wolffenbüttel