this is the only story i ever written... sometime ago...

“how did i reach this point ?” he thought picking a cigarrette after his warm cup of coffee. As he lit it up, strange thoughts elipted in his head. Rushing to get his pen and a piece paper, a slow heavy motion overflew his sense of reality, in such a way that he couldn´t figure out every last thought, every last word. It seemed too much. – if i could just understand it – he mumbled. – What ? - said the girl in front of him – what ? “ too late “ Lights and shadows, objects and flesh had begun this other flow. Every movement happened undermotion, lasted longer as it was meant to be acknowledgeable, meaningfull. The sounds of cars on the street penetrated de café, the gurgling coffee machine and the many voices present fed his imagination in this late spring afternoon. “ all these trivial ocurrencies are not new for me, tough this empathy...” –Hei! i´m trying to have a conversation here - she remarked. “ shit, cut it off!” – Sorry, i was feeling this place. – What ? feeling a place ? in what way ? – Thinking, i mean thinking about how this place felt like or made me feel like. Sometimes i feel related to a place as a whole, somekind of empathy. “ feeling empathy and it all comes from me” Now this intimacy had filled his heart. Trying to understand each and every soul moving around this tiny place in this familiar city. The original concept of pure empathy had crossed his mind once more and he thought that all things had this colective link that made sense, altough he couldn´t define it. Picking her things, she got up. – I know we all have things of our own, but reality inhabits everyone´s self and is as important as any dream. – Please, don´t leave. I´m sorry, it´s just that i am puzzled. This has happen so many times and i still can´t understand it. It´s like somekind of exterior energy that blows across my body. – Understanding means absorbing and you need tools to do that. – So it comes from myself, is it ? – I think that, all you believe has suffered your personal interpretation... Kiss me ! Slowly he raised and leaned over the table and closed his eyes as their lips touched. – What was this ? – she asked with a witty smile – i know it was kiss but describe it as you felt it. Opening his eyes he seated back on the seat. The table, the trashed pieces of paper from his many unfinished sketches layed around on the table as did the coffee cups and the ashtray. She turned her head looking outside. Watching her he thought he couldn´t word it out, he felt that the sublimity of the feeling was so unique that it´s own tenderness prevented him from talking. Looking round he wondered if there was at least one person that felt things the way he did or if it was something we all possessed in our own peculiar way. – Well ? – I can´t say, words fail me... – Do you really have to describe it? – I guess, i ought to... well... ought just to feel it. Silence impose itself. Again his hands reached for his cigarrettes. “ i really should quit smoking but it´s such a relief when i´m thinking. She was distractdly gazing upon the walls. Closing his eyes whilst taking a long drag, he held dearly the image of her face. “ amazing as it seems we understand eachother but wow long will it last ? we all know it ain´t eternal”. As he partially concluded this thought, a danger angel replaced her and he previewed this relationship as some future pain. So he looked away watching other couples behaviour towards eachother. “ so if we are all alone, this is an illusion” – I don´t like you right now, so it would be better if i left. – Why ? what`s the matter with you today ? “ nothing is bad if it`s dead”. – I don`t Know, i suppose i´m tied up to something i don´t agree. With these words he felt exposed, she knew it and felt it. Her eyes met his hands. Bitterness rose in her as this place was becoming a bad one. As some bad whisper had wind across them. His face changed, it appeared to be different, indiferent and she knew walls were being rebuilt between them. – Agree ? tied up to an agreement ? an agreement needs both aceptance. – Until when ? – You don´t live the future. – But you think about it. – Of course, but you can´t trace it accurately, you know there are too many options. It´s the commitment we put into things we do that determines the final output of things ( if there is such thing as final). The dim light of the afternoon reflected orange to red hues on the walls of the café, leaving serenity to bath it´s interior. Responding to this environmental change he finished his cigarrette on the ashtray and left his eyes to drift across the room, uncertain of where to look, of what to think about what she had just said. The place was the same, although, now, more people were coming in and out replacing the one´s that left, at the static look-a-like of tables and chairs. This way, these few unaltered elements of this delight shop, appeared to change all the time with this constant renewal of it`s user. “ it is as if all these people and their attitudes gave different meanings to the environment” These people were confined to a limited number o seats and, though an inherent social behaviour was thtoughoutfully spread, each new person painted a new story, a new conception of the same old orb. “ there is a reason for everything, even if it ain´t logical for me” Sudenly his hand was grabed by her hand and she was crossing the tables towards the street. He couldn´t produce a single sound. She held his hand as they flew through buildings towards the sky and the orange travelling clouds. Unable to act, he felt himself fusing with her into a single all-expressing new soulform, an all-embracing emotional manifestation, sparkling with curiosity and intimacy. A cup crashed somewhere. They got up and left.