We laid on our backs on the roof of my apartment, Gilot and I, contemplating the skies under the spell of a White Zinfandel and leftover plates of a chicken alfredo. A common night with a warm feeling to the heart. It had been six months since I first asked her to be my girlfriend in the apartment below the 501B. She had been all one hears when people speak on the promise of love.
"My first memory is not one of images but rather one of words spoken by my mother. My Pablo, she said, the mere fact you have been granted the opportunity to live this life is a testament that you have been born with a purpose. You have made it out of the web of smoke between life and purgatory because you have a call to greatness. You will be light in this world. If you become a soldier, you will become general. If you become a priest, you will become the pope. But I am yet to fulfill a life of promise...", I tell Gilot holding a glass of wine.
"To whom much is given, much will be required." -She responds.
"In youth, I had an unwavering confidence in myself and my skills. I thought the world would kneel to my iron resolutions. I have found in the passing of years; I was full of stupidity rather than courage. I was not able to perceive the world in it's true shape and ways. I still hold on to a thin string of hope that survives the person I am today. Sometimes, I look myself in the mirror and ask myself, if my mother lived, what would she think of me? An aspiring artist living incongruently check to check from the crumbs of my everyday office job. I am repulsed to speak my truth when sober; I have lost myself to the ways of the world."
"Have you thought about quitting? Let the parachute loose and freefall back to the beginning. Back to where you first started."
"But once something has changed, can it really ever return? And can something in this world truly avoid change? I can't oppose change, otherwise, I'll die. One can change but it does not mean it has gone a thorough transformation. That is my problem. I changed to adapt but not to evolve. Just speaking on it, tenses my veins, I have grown scared of myself. The world now dictates my fate. If I let go of everything now, what would become of me? Of us? Could you really love me when I'm left without a penny to love?"
"I would like to think so, but I don't know. Nothing in this world is certain and nothing in this world can give you the certainty you are looking for. You act, as if, in doubt of my loyalty, like we were strangers meeting for the first time, estranged to my feelings towards you. Have I not given you everything that I am and been your innkeeper of secrets? I could take this as an offense of the highest degree, yet, I won't. It's doubt doing the talking in your behalf. Who do you want doing the talking for you?"
"Guess you are right."- I exhale from my mouth, my hands on my face, and from the pit of my stomach I let out a howl.
"All of you men are but paper soldiers, you fold and pierce with ease, carried along by the will of the wind."
"Are we now?" I spun and got on top of her, "when you think of yourself as an animal, which are you?'
"I've always known I am a Greek horse. An Ilia. Smart, brave but undemanding."
"And me?"
"A bull. I knew it the moment I first laid eyes on you. A handsome animal, not the tallest, neither the biggest, but you understand the force behind your figure. Your violent movements full of life, strike with force the earth, but that same fury carried within your bloodstream can lead you to confusion. In your cloven hoof lies the chaos of existence, wanting to run amok, to destroy and change, to stomp all obstacles. The scary part about your strength is that in it lies your weakness, if run berserk, you can harm those around you, and be trapped by your anger into an unreversible madness." She said caressing in between her finger's strands of my hair. Her touch calmed me and made me feel safe from everything in this world, including myself. In my gratitude, I kissed her hand.
YOU ARE READING
Who Stole Vincent's Starry Night?
FantasyA young artist by the name of Pablo struggles to make sense of the world and be part of it as his true calling for painting and the vision of the world on himself are at a crucible. A woman by the name of Josefina presents herself and will take him...
