The Write Thing

A few hours ago, at the ice cream parlor, I saw a couple. These girls were so connected in the way they were dressed, in the way they talked to each other. One of them had no difficulties in going onto PDA mode, which I found bold and wonderfully avant-garde for someone in her twenties. I looked at them out of the corner of my eye, enthralled by their nonchalance, and the self-assertiveness that accompanied that defiance of the world. After all, we are in Buenos Aires, who is only gay-friendly in name, but in practice is really closeted.

I thought of this, and had a sudden flash of emotion and relative epiphany. I saw myself in that connection, so many years ago. Alas, no longer. We are now entering what someone very sage called The Silent Phase. It hurts like hell. I simply have to let go, not of her, but of me in the us we built once, so long ago. There are so many ways of loving. My way now is that of a sister, not a lover. So it must end… until, hopefully, one day, something will be constructed out of the sparkle of beauty that we generated, unknowingly and beautifully, of our own accord.