At dawn, I furtively escape his bed and tiptoe out of the apartment, illuminated by the first titian rays of the morning sun.
It's a game we play.
I like to wait a bit; then I knock on the door as if I've just arrived from a long journey.
We do this every single day, yet it always seems to me I am seeing him for the first time.
I await him in front of the apartment with a childlike, mischievous smile.
He always opens the door at once and looks at me, jubilant and wide awake.
We are happy.
Yes.
Extraordinarily happy.
The eternal fantasies we had about each other for many years, even before we met, have now come true.
He lets me enter the apartment, ecstatic–because I am his.
I pretend I've never seen him before–because I know he likes it that way.
I cross the threshold, wearing a faux-serious expression on my face.
I look around with childish curiosity, beaming, delighted. I explore every corner, as if I were here for the first time, inquiring about every little thing.
He points to some porcelain figurines in the living room. He tells me that sooner or later I will throw them all at his head, in one of those pesky love quarrels that we will undoubtedly have some day.
He shows me the bed in the bedroom. He says this is where we are always going to reconcile.
I smile and head to the kitchen. I return after a few minutes, carrying two glasses of orange juice, one glass in each hand.
I take a single sip from mine as if it were a poison; I roll my eyes and slump down on the floor, like his dead Juliet.
He gulps his down and falls over me, like my moribund Romeo.
***
A/N: 20.1.2008. Music theme song: André Rieu: "Love theme from Romeo and Juliet."