|by Caroline Stampone|
She: _ It is dark in here.
He: _ It is midday. The sun is shining...
She: _ I am not talking about what we can see. Here is not my place.
He: _ I like sunny days. After a good beer and you, of course, the sunny days are my favorite thing. I really like the beach as well.
She: _ I miss home, the smell of the earth after the rain.
He: _ Do you remember when we met? It was a sunny day as well. You were so beautiful. The most beautiful thing that I ever saw.
She: _ I miss the smell of fresh fish in the oven...
He: _ Sometimes I miss your smile. When we met you used to smile all the time.
She: _ I miss the stars, my stars. In the other side of the world, in my piece of the world the stars are different, you know?
He: _ But even when you cry there is beauty in your face and in your hands. I love your hands so much.
She: _ I miss my language, that I know that it is not mine. I am hers. I can feel at home in my language. There are so many things that I can only say in my language. Feelings that are only possible when I am immersed in my own language...
He: _ Do you remember that you used to paint so well, so beautifully? Why did you stop? When did you stop? Your last painting was that deformed picture of me?
She: _ I forgot to buy the dog's food.
He: _ You can still be a great artist. You should start painting again. An artist' life is not made only of success and beauty. There is pain as well and disappointment, and you know that you only did one terrible work.
She: _ I miss my first mirror. I was young and bright inside it. I was so pretty and light and naive. The world, back there, was an amazing place. Love was the greatest thing ever. Art was an impossible thing that I had the magic power to make possible.
He: _ I am really sorry that I said terrible. I meant less significant. Yes, less significant and a little bit of a bad taste...
She: _ I forgot myself somewhere in the past. I am not sure where. Some days I feel that it is your fault that the old me does not exist anymore. Other days I think you miss the old me too. Maybe they are both the truth. Pieces of the truth...
He: _ Not really a bad taste. Just not my taste...
She: _ Do you know what? The truth is overvalued.
He: _ I am not lying to you. It is just that sometimes I don't know how to order the words.
She: _ I want to smoke. I forgot the fire. Do you have fire?
He: _ I would never ever lie to you. I love you so much to put stones on our way.
She: _ No. I think I will have a piece of cake instead. Would you like some cake?
He: _ We found enough stones on our way and we are still here, together.
She: _ I shouldn't have a piece of cake or a cigarette. Neither is really what I need, neither is really what I want. I am just trying to escape, again.
He: _ I know that it hasn't been always easy. But we made it and we made Michael, together.
She: _ How we will explain to him? "Michael, we love you and we always will. But we don't love each other anymore". It is so cliche.
He: _ Are you saying that you will leave me? I still love you.
She: _ How? I am not capable to love myself anymore. How could you? I need to go.
He: _ Go where?
She: _ Back. I need to go back. I need to find myself again.
He: _ How about Michael?
She: _ He can choose if he wants to go or stay.
He: _ It is not fair. We can not do this to him.
She: _ I know that what I will say is another cliche, but it is also a piece of the truth. Life is not always fair. Actually, almost always, life is unfair. I am unfair, too, sometimes. And now is one of such moments. Another one of my unfair moments. But what can I do? I really need to go and I will not say that I am sorry, because I am not. I am glad that I finally found the strength to leave you, to leave this life, to leave this poor version of myself. I am saying good bye. I am not saying see you soon.
He: _ I will miss you.
She: _ I lived the last twelve years missing myself. I am done with it. I fucking missed myself for too long. Now it is time for me to start a trip to find my pieces.
He: _ I hope that you have a powerful glue.