Not To Touch The Earth

Some days ago he got out of his life for a couple of hours. He got himself into a cafe and then he lit up his cigarette. Ordered a coffee and suddenly everything changed. This heavenly creature attacked his eyesight, as if his world had come to an end. So apparently pure, but so desireably wicked. Vicious, tasteful, embracing everything he could ever aspire to have in existence. Ah, women. The greatest creature of them all. She noticed him also. However, she sat in a way that seemed to obey to a previously articulated and studied manner, as if a higher power demanded an artistic and near perfect way to do such common act. She was sitting down with her back turned to him. But there is always some magic when we get out of the boat that takes us to the other side of morning. A large part of the wall was covered with glass. Mirrors everywhere. And then suddenly he realized that the game of reflexes revealed her face, right in front of him, in the wall. And every gesture she made would give a painting which no man could ever have the money to pay for. They'd have to sacrifice their blood at her feet just to deserve a quick glimpse.

But he wasn't looking at her constantly. He took a glance now and then, and sometimes he could see she was looking through the reflex too. He was enjoying the moment, even knowing that in this reality nothing would ever happen. He chose so. The probability was like a drug. Thinking about what could happen if...this was the opium. And she knew it. How different would the world be if they could actually get acquainted. How sacred would their nest be, golden and divine. They were both enjoying the moment. Nevertheless, they both had a somewhat thoughtful look, as if they knew pretty well that nothing was really going to happen. There were no gods to look for, there was no karma to drive them into each other. Besides, her finger was being choked by a ring, which could say a lot but mean nothing at all. I don't believe any of them cared. Looking from the outside, I could tell that they could never get together. The passion would be so powerful and the love so grand that they would destroy the world. Their lust for each other would consume time itself. Their hunger would be assassin. They would kill each other out of plain desire. Either of them knew that the possibility existed, that they could actually do it, and this was all that mattered. But they couldn't and they wouldn't do it. I suppose it's because they were not from this world while in there. As if inside the cafe physical contact was impossible. And they knew it was, because that's what happens when we get out of our lives for some time. Our bodies are there, but we're not. We're swimming in a sea of thoughts. So they left, never looking back.