The Ephemeral

”Why is it so unfair?”

”What is?”

”Death.”

”Why do you think death is unfair?”

”It hurts.”

”Everyone must hurt sometime, you know that.”

”But why? Can’t we just be happy?”

She stroke his hair.

”Can’t we?”

He fell silent.

”Tell me, John, do you regret?”

”Regret what?”

”Anything.”

”Well, I suppose. If I could go back in time, I would definitely not steal that jar of cookies when I was a kid.” He chuckled. ”One thing I would never regret is having met you.”

She kissed him lightly upon his lips.

”I don’t regret,” she started. ”There is no time. Death is not unfair. Death doesn’t have to hurt. Death is Change. It is Death who reminds you that everything you make, say and do is important. Every little thing is important for it is always the last. All you do right now is the last thing you will do in this moment. In this second. Then it’s gone. It’s dead, and it can’t come back. And you will miss it. That’s why it is so special to start with.”

He wrapped her dark brown hair around his fingers.

”Is that why I love you so much?”

She looked at him, puzzled.

”Because you are going to disappear, and I’m not going to be able to disappear with you?”

She smiled, burying her head in his chest.

”No, that’s why I love you.”

The Spring

It is getting warm again. Not only the weather, but everything, everyone. The spring is quite a big thing here up North, since they have long winter periods. They have parties and fests to rejoice its coming. Songs, costumes, foods.

"I like the spring because it makes me happy."

I used to say I wasn't a warm-weather kind of person. I've had too much of it. I liked the breeze, the cold. I felt weird, because everyone else liked summer. Was I that strange?

It took me one hell of a winter to understand that they were never talking about the temperature. 

It was so simple, so raw, so delicate. So fragile and unconscious, yet so strong and present. Maybe you are a cold-weather person like I was. That will change. It's not that I stopped liking coats and sweaters for sweat, don't get me wrong. No matter how many springs and summers come, they will always be preceded by a winter. The worse the winter, the better the spring. In the end of your winter, there will be days of warmth and days of cold. There will be laughter and there will be shivering. Perhaps you will even get a little tanned. Mark that day of warmth so you won't forget.

I didn't use to go out whenever I saw the Sun just because it was there. You can't miss a thing you have in your consciousness and on your skin most of the time. Take it off your mind and you will dislike it; take it off your skin and you will love it.

I had it taken off my skin. I started loving it. From the bottom of my heart, I love the Sun. It is clear that I'm not talking about the temperature. It is simple, raw, delicate. Fragile and yet strong. Unconscious and yet present.

I love to smile.

Short Love Stories #3: The Bench

He sat on the empty bench. We used to sit here, you and I. He looks down to the palm of his hand. The lines of his skin, now tired and dry. The lines she used do draw. For some reason, the tears always followed the paths she carved with the light touch of her fingers. He smiled. You said you'd always be here. And so did I.
So he was always there, on that bench. Every sunset. And so was she. Always.