She was my best friend, my old friend, and she was the color of my blood. And it was a night of terror, a hermetic night when wolves, too, were fighting for the air and struggling to breathe. But somewhere between the restlessness of a malice and the crying of the living, something woke him up, the smell of amber. The seraphic inspiration made him fly to find the source of amber. Roaming in the land where trees had no leaves, he saw skulls with shallow eyes looking at him. As he walked through the valley of the shadow and death, he found his parts someplace else. Those crying voices saw him as if his hands seemed to doubt the existence of things, never to touch it, never to keep either. He walked with shadows in the heart of the dying land, the smell of amber disappeared, so did his hopes of life. His soul seemed to be leaving his body little by little, the dying skulls told him that they had never seen amber in this land. The echoes of the crying wolves froze inside of him. He hugged an old tree to embrace his last, then the proximity of dawn appeared at a site which seemed to have come from two eternities beyond. The old tree sprouted two Valkyries and he was flown towards the edge of the other world. At the end of the destination was she, standing there, drinking a glass of amber from the curved horns of an angel. There she was, wrapped in silk, so devious yet so definitive. There she was, so peaceful, so majestic. The breeze flying her hair across her face, caressing her hair as gently as lovers’ hands. The silk robe against her body, the curve of her breasts, the charismatic glow of her cheeks and arms, there she was, standing with a beauty that had no past. There she was, standing in the league of angels, and there he was, every step getting closer. He touched her…. Just the tips of his fingers, just the tips of his fingers. When his hands seemed to have forgotten the existence of things and touch, he touched her face, her arms and he knew what touching an angel feels like, how feeling a star under the hands would feel like. She always multiplied his love, did the same this time too. She hugged him for his touch on her, and she hugged him so tight that the tenderness of her breasts felt like a bulge of ribbon against his heart. “Hello, Old Friend. I still get to call you Bezz, right?” he heard her say. “Call me anything” he heard himself say. “I was looking for you in the wrong place before, stars don’t reside in a dying land”. “Would you please shut up and let me hug you for a while” she told him with a zeal which was unknown to him. These moments were so close that they could hear each other’s thoughts. The peace was broken by his cries when he wet her aphrodisiac shoulders with his tears, “I miss you, why did you have to leave? Dad left, She left too, why you left too? Why I didn’t die along as well”. The best friend hugged the other best friend, gave him a kiss on the softer earlobe and whispered life in him, “because you are so well equipped for life, which is abnormal, but isn’t it who you are, Bezz? The odd duck, the abnormal, the outrageous, the excellent and extraordinary? You are … because you are”
I woke up, my eyes as wet as they were in the dream, still feeling the smell of amber around me. I know you’re watching me from the empty skies, and I miss you, and I miss you tons. I wish we had this hug in our life, I wish we had it at least once. You’re lying under stranger’s land, I don’t have your grave, but I have your undying love, friendship, memories, and things I can’t even name. I love you Isha, I miss you and, in another life, in another dimension out beyond the limits of space and time, I will see you again. I will see you again.
