Don’t thank me… you’re the gift!

I like the night; that’s when you sleep and when I find more peace in your absence. My plans are born at night; how I’ll be there looking at you, sneakily grinning like I tend to, when we’re about to marry or just up to some ice cream, or while sitting in the bus in a fatuous silence that you’d interrupt for your own surprise. That’s when I picture all that out loud, now at night; and also at night I imagine your cheeks rising up and backwards in cute suspicion as you read my so madly flickering and only occasionally fruitful words, here sewed together to form such an unfrequent musing.

Your eyes are beautiful, you know? For they have the white and they have the black and nothing else. No half deceiving tints, no less denser pigments here or there, they’re strongly simple, or simply strong. You prefer strongly simple, I know. I’ll leave it as so.

Yes,Β it’s curious that I enjoy when you leave me for the night. It feels like I’m not missing out on as much as I am during daytime. Both our lives are separate after all. We are anything but together, albeit we are everything but strangers.

These days have been so windy, it’s the weather of here, always the same during Summers despite Summer not having yet started. My father curses this land for its winds and I find such opinion silly. For me, Portugal is here, not the North or the South, it’s Lisbon, it’s the gentle shore down there and I live right between the ocean and the often misted palace up there in the hill. Right amidst both, the perfect place… for now at least, not for much longer I suppose.

But the stressed zephyr, as I was saying, it breaks the crops in the garden and the trees that bear plums (they weren’t even ripe yet, that was cruel!), it’s noisy and our eyes tear a little when they breathe it in, the flying dust that’s not visible at sunset. An odd orange shade glowed through the windowed veranda this evening; that and the dog’s eyes also all so afraid of the noise. A beautiful twilight this of today and will you guess who I thought of as I stepped out the porch? It was you girl. It’s like I contemplated my farewell to this place. I wonder about it and imagine if I’ll miss it any day once I’m beside you. And that’s when I catch a goosebump of a sort tickling me and then I shook my head and snapped out of it even though I esteem scrutinizing all about the coming days; their assembly has already started.

Well, me, I choose to see these gusts as fresh metaphors for “me and you”. Like, the sun would warm perfectly if it wasn’t for this tumultuous air in between it and I. I would as well warm you less flawedly if it wasn’t for us both being in such distinct sides of our dear planet. And yes, the planet is now so dearer to me because you found me. It is, that was your blessing to me, one you did not look hard to find neither could you buy it if you craved it. Life simply made you my gift. Thanks for trusting me…

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5 thoughts on “Don’t thank me… you’re the gift!

  1. This is really nice, LoneBeachWalker. You are very grateful to have met this woman you describe in this piece. I hope she knows this and the feelings are reciprocal. 😊 A fan of your writing, always.

    Liked by 1 person

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