The ripples

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The ripples

I wish I could stop time when I touch your hair, and you close your eyes. Pam wanted to say it out loud, but she was sure it would sound crazy and obsessed exactly how she is and felt towards Camille. Since they bumped into each other by mistake at the cafe, Pam felt the possibility of founding something familiar: a very tiny oasis on the mad crowd of anxious thoughts.

With reality frozen, I would observe your smiley eyes for long enough to remember always how great you look and I feel while watching that glimpse when you seemed happy. I agree with Pam that her smiley eyes were probably the most adorable event of the last years. However, she will be even more surprised and enchanted by the way Camille will look at her during sex. Her mesmerizing eyes will demonstrate her soul is somewhere else. The same way eyes look right before a calm death. Pam will feel proud of herself, taking Camille’s soul away for a while and letting her come back greatly exhausted to reality.

Two weeks ago, Pam couldn’t sleep because she caught herself trapped in confusing reflections about love. She felt love wasn’t such a rare feeling, but still precious. Some days, Pam loved pretty most everything around, including the sunlight. Yesterday she loved that Marcela offered her place if she needed a roof to figure it out. She loved herself finally, especially by keeping so many good people around, and mostly by being able to feel she could make herself happy and others too.

Maybe love is the infinite desire to make someone happy; she concluded this morning after the highest satisfaction of seeing Camille closing her eyes while driving on the highway. If not love, it would be pure insanity, right? At least is what sounds like if you never felt the same way, so carefree.

The risk of a significant happening like a car accident excited Pam. She felt guilty about it and justified that maybe Camille would have a mundane and aggressive reaction and the enchantment (or curse) would be broken. Camille would perhaps lose the glow and mystery. Next time, still with Camille’s hair between her fingers she will wonder I suppose you are happy but who knows. Are you?

Of course, she would never ask. She would instead just try to read and learn Camille’s body language, understanding the smallest signs of joy. She would avoid wonder if Camille also cared about her, probably not. Pam will be surprised when someone does care, and I, I will be so delighted, I love her so much. Maybe then, she will submerge herself again in the (insane) pleasure of seeing in the mirror a pair of smiley eyes too.

It sounded so obvious Camille will smash her heart merciless, and not because Camille had no heart. It was just meant to be, Pam felt the bittersweet taste of that irony in her mouth. Anyway, Pam would still allow her mind not to submerge, but to get her toes and fingers wet enough to compensate the few warm tears she could drop when (or hopefully, if) they are done. You also know how bad it hurts. I know you remember even after trying to forget for so long. She knows I know more than her about the water temperature, and she feels I will not move one finger to advise her. I will watch her looking at the lake. I am sure you would not either; you would not keep anyone, not even yourself, far from the coziness of a possible and miraculous reciprocated love.

Ligia Francisco (2/12/2018, California)