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FAIRY TALE TO GROW UP

FAIRY TALE TO GROW UP
Illustration

By: Albana Beqiri

To the whole world He was an ordinary man. Not for him. He was the most unusual man She had known. The ideal of the ideal man. The best man that ever existed. Maybe because he loved her so much. Or maybe because she thought that He loved her just as much.

"I love you more than many, more than ours is the universe", he remembers saying to her in all the days of their great love. He, for his part, had tried to eat with her in this demonstration of love, but he had not succeeded. Not that he wasn't good with words, he was more so than She, but because for some reason He couldn't understand, or because of his inexplicable awkwardness when talking to her, She took all the words out of his mouth that He had on his tongue and said before him. And then He was silent. He could not tell her that he had thought exactly the same thing, and he was saying it when she had shown herself to be faster.


She adored him. If to all the world He was an ordinary man, to him He was perfect. Perfect in that fearful man's imperfection. Yes, yes fear must have been what was hidden behind his gloomy appearance, fear to show the tenderness and that sensitive side of the character, tenderness and sensitivity that only She knew and that made her adorable.

They fell asleep on both sides of the night and distance was the quilt that covered them. Even as he approached them every time they felt the frost of longing that filled the lack. At those moments, She would wake up and draw a red rose of wishes in the wind. When his fingers got tangled, it happened that one of the thorns of the rose sneakily pierced him, in the other corner of the night, He was awakened by the strong smell of the rose and by the pain he felt in his fingers. A drop of blood dripped from his pierced fingers and She drank it to relieve the pain.

"I still haven't found a measuring standard for my love", he once told her with a look. It was the first time his eyes spoke before hers. "Love cannot be measured", she wanted to tell him, but He who had taken heart from the priority created asked him: why, why, why do you love me?

"Because, because, because I love you", he had the answer on the tip of his tongue, which apparently did not satisfy the skeptical man. As if he hadn't heard, He repeated the question: why, why, why do you love me?

"Love cannot be explained, if it is explained it is no longer love. Everything can only be love no. Because it cannot be explained, love is only felt, experienced".

She wasn't quite sure now what She had been to her, but She herself had seen Her as a gift from God, a blessing to get her through her difficult days.

That's how he considers it even today, when it's been a while since nothing is the same. Not like before.

One day, He turned away without saying a word. Or said many such things. He was good with them and knew how to use them well in singing and singing. Then he returned. She tried for everything to be as before. He seemed to succeed. Until He was baptized again. This time for something else that was so similar to the reason for the last time. It came back again. She again tried to make everything as before. So it was until He was baptized once more. Then and another time, and another time...

In all the times that she returned, she told him that she loved him more and more, and he asked to love her in his own way.

One day He built a house of snow and ice, She never saw that house except that... only that, only that she felt in the other corner of the night the ice that came from him. It was the home where He put His heart and soul.

The fire of her love had been insufficient to melt the snow and ice with which He had built that house.

It happens that on cold nights of loneliness, she wakes up from the frost of longing that chills her limbs and her tired soul even in sleep. Even from the scent of the rose of wishes that has dried up over time. He then draws a heart in the air that won't beat. The heavy scent of dried rose assails his nostrils and old wounds from rose thorn punctures sting as they once dripped with blood.