"What is love in this temporal life, if not just a distraction from the pain that doesn't seem to end."
After losing his best friend to an unexplained suicide, Mateu finds himself left to pick up the pieces with his best friend's younger brother, Fe...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
Rafel sat opposite me, his hands busy working with the branches and twine, his fingers nimble and delicate. The sparks from the fire were jumping about, the song of the cicadas filling the heavy summer air. The campfire casted a strong shadow on his features, and it didn't help that he looked so determined and focused. When he set his mind to something, he seemed stern, intimidating even. But that was the Rafel I had known and loved.
Ferran was beside him, leaning against his haversack as he stretched his legs in front of him. Staring straight into the fire, his eyes seemed so distant and faraway. His fingers fidgeted with the cross dangling from his chest, glistening in the light. Letting out a sigh, he leaned to his right, resting on Rafel's shoulders. Even though he was busy working, I couldn't help but notice the warm smile on his lips. The love he had for his brother was no secret.
Ferran seemed as perfect as ever that hot summer night, the fire's warmth driving away the icy distant coolness in his features, brightening his angelic Boucheresque airs with the dramatic, bold and passionate crimson and orange hues of Caravaggio.
It was the last summer we had together. Rafel had gotten his driver's license – finally, and he insisted on bringing us camping deep in the forested Pyreenes. We had booked a cabin for ourselves at a campsite just a stone's throw away from the Canigou, under the shadow of its domineering peak.
Ferran's eyes were fluttering, the poor boy struggling to keep them open. Yet his arctic blue eyes still stared into the flames, gazing intently as if the orange licks dancing around were telling him a message only he could understand. At times he seemed to have begun to nod off, but almost immediately he would shake himself awake.
Rafel finally held his handiwork up, as if to show me. He had taken and fashioned the laurel branches he had gathered earlier into a wreath crown. It was pretty, if I were being honest. I wouldn't think Rafel would've been capable of something like that, but my boy was full of surprises.
Gently, he placed the finished crown of leaves on Ferran's golden curls. Turning to face his brother, Ferran flashed him a smile, showing his perfect white teeth. His eyes were bright, and for as long as I could remember, it was the first – and the last – time I ever saw Ferran free from the faint aura of melancholy that always seemed to have haunted him. In that brief moment, he truly seemed to be in a state of pure bliss.
Crowned with a wreath of laurels - couronne de Laurier - he never seemed more alive.
He was a prince in his brother's eyes. He was a prince too in mine, but I never got to tell him that.
It was a memory that I don't think I could ever forget. Moments like that, cherished close to my heart reminded me how beautiful life could be. That even the saddest boy I had ever known could experience a brief, fleeting moment of pure bliss – then I knew I deserved that much.
A chilly wind blew down the street as I left the police station, sending a shiver down my spine. My mind was blank, my heart heavy. People were everywhere, but I felt ever so desolate.
