The third touch

Much north the map, where the one-o-one road no longer reaches.

A long messy summer it was; a third attempt to develop my life it was.

The very well known path took me to all these places I was very familiar with.

Lines, bubblegum to avoid the pain in my eardrums, bubblegum pop to avoid the pain in my soul.

While waiting on the hub, a stranger approached.

An overseas resident, such stranger sported a rather snobbish attitude and a very vague if not inexistent protecting instinct towards the mother language against the influences from the adopted home influence.

An awkward conversation began, just to exercise my abilities to remain kind and friendly even in the most hostile situation.

This, however, went beyond the mere cordiality; it was daring.

As it soon became clear, the stranger was in a blatant attempt to put my own experience to test, maybe to prove a point, maybe to prove me wrong, maybe as a pure ego trip.

I then not only managed to be cordial – I also became intriguing, to the point I was gifted a package from the Alps, which, as the stranger insisted to point, was a recurring travelling destination.

Take it as a 'good luck' gift, the stranger said, after learning my goals on the terminal.

As the stranger faded in the distance – to never be seen again –, I read, a little mesmerized, the wrapping.

It said "nice to sweet you".

Well, I thought, nice to sweet you too.

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Upon reaching my destination, the familiar heat was a warm welcoming embrace albeit the distance and the time were fatal.

The water was not boiling at once and my heart missed the (expected) craving.

Slightly numb, I reckon, I reached the very same place where, not too long ago, was a marking point of my youth dream.

In hopes that the northern heat was to become my lucky charm to succeed, I prayed and went to war.

After befriending with folks from the South – how unsurprising, may I say – I did the best my luck and knowledge would support.

My dreams failed, yet again.

On the other hand, vacations unveiled.

The warmer sands, the brighter sun, the dearest folks.

That was the perfect scenario to my ritual of spiritual cleaning and renewal.

I'm ready to start anew, I, deep inside, prayed, although still startled by the imaginary wall built between us.

Time passes. People take hands. They leave hands. They look up to a new direction. They take new steps. They lick the edges. They jump ahead.

And then they are just never coming back.

And that is how life keeps moving.

We are born. We grow apart. We move on.

Sitting at the restaurant, prior to the farewell, I contemplated their faces, in all the young glory.

Together by heart, we lived what seemed to me as being a lifetime.

Northern wind, however, unveiled that such era was over.
Inside, we had all changed.

The good recollections will always remain, as the door is closed shut.

You then again learn; there is no forever.

The plane was due and the south was awaiting me.

No posh strangers in the way back; no much drama – much in reverse, a lot of joyful friendly laughter – when reaching the old Harbour town.

And it was then time to look for newer forms of building my dreams.

For nothing remains still.

Happy week, dear reader.

X