Touch
the sun and kiss the rain
It
was about midnight when I entered the Sé Bar. As usual I would order
a pint of white beer and sit at one end of the counter. I always sat
right next to the entrance from where I expected the same young man
to spend the night a couple of sits further. The first time I saw him
I remembered he was smoking outside. His 'rollies' as he called them
made perfect circles as he smoked. I was sitting inside, observing
this strange looking guy asking for a cigarette to whoever he was. He
entered and ordered a couple of drinks. As the night went on, he kept
on drinking cheap rum and started smiling like a child and took a
pencil out of his backpack and wrote on a napkin. He stared outside
the window pane and contemplated the rain that started pouring on
Emile Zola square. That night I waited for him to leave the bar and
took the napkin he wrote on after he looked at the rain. This is how
I knew who he was. His note said : Touch
the sun and kiss the rain.
He was alone. I felt funny for a moment because I started smiling the
same way the young man did. I kept on seeing him at the Sé Bar and
after the departure of the lonely poet, I would take his napkins that
he left for dead on the counter. I wondered how he felt when he
abandoned those notes. I decided to keep all of them. There was no
reason for this young man to write without being read. Reading is a
passion. Each word coming out of the unknown is a bracelet one wears
in secret. Everybody has a secret. I read the notes that this young
man left every night after each rendez-vous. One
night, he left a note that said
'Do you like what I write?'.
The world started to spin faster and faster. I almost fell from my
stool. My soul started to distort itself and my body felt so heavy. I
felt guilty but happy at the same time. I hate asking stupid
questions to myself. My body speaks for me. I ordered one last drink
and walked all night long. I could not help but think about him all
the time. It felt like this other guy suddenly attracted me. I looked
at my own reflection passing by the shop window of a bakery. Was I
smart-looking enough to get to speak to this unknown and strange
person? I stopped in the middle of the crossroads in front of the
theater and laughed. Who was I to think that his note was addressed
to me? The week after, I ordered my third pint feeling my throat
twisting inside as if my soul wanted to cry. He was not coming this
night. A hand of rain pounded its knuckles hard against the
cobblestones of the square. I left the Sé Bar and started walking
home. The sky soaked in the Earth which swallowed my soul. I was
about to open the front door of my building when I heard 'Hello?' My
blood ran once through all my veins. Shaking, I turned around and
there he was. 'How are you?' he asked.
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lost
in syntax
The
sun pierced through the shutters and a thin ray cheered up my face. I
opened my eyes cautiously as I remembered what happened the night
before. I felt a faint as sat up on my bed. Time froze for a moment
and my heart felt like it was about to tear my chest apart and break
free. I remembered. A strange 'hello' echoed and I remembered. The Sé
Bar. The rain. There was a face. I smiled. Where was the rest of it ?
I took a shower and remembered. K. something. We smoked weed all
night long and talked. What did we talk about ? I drank my tea and
remembered. We had sex. I remembered we talked all night long. I
remembered the ecstasy. I was walking home and he was following me.
We laughed when he told me he saw me laughing in front of the
theater. I felt so stupid and then he kissed me. He said he felt
lonely. I said I needed a little company. We had sex.
I
left my apartment and on the door there was a note. I started to cry.
I felt so terrible for those words were not for me. Could this
scattered memory of mine deny the wonderful night we spent. I could
not even remember his name. Those words. This unknown handwriting.
What did I say or do that could leave such an impression on this
stranger's mind ?
I
have a smile curled up on my back. I can feel its gentle breathe. It
tickles. I tremble with pleasure. I have a smile in my bed. I tornado
it in my arms. It happinesses me. I miss it. I love it when its lips
break through. It earlobes me and I belly it. We for-some-timed
ourselves. I want it eternity. I pagan it . It divines me. I bird it.
It flies me. It wings me, I angel it. It smiles to me and I gentle
kiss it. I shyly breeze it. It hurricanes me. I miss it. I praise it.
It heartbeats me. I heart-attacked it. It mouth-to-mouth me. I kissed
him.
We fire!
Karl.
His name was Karl.
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Oh
victory !
I
spent the morning in my apartment trying to realize what this feeling
was. I was jet-lagged with my body and soul. I could not find the
balance and could not stand it any longer. So I went outside again.
It was sunny and the world seemed at peace. An old lady smiled,
walking her dog. The dog smiled to the old lady. I smiled and felt
lucky to be such a privileged witness. Life was good outside. I spent
most of the afternoon at a café, drinking wine and eating a sandwich
for both my lunch and dinner. I read the rage of Arthur's bittersweet
poetry. I felt like this day was kind to me. The sun slowly went down
and the shadow of François Rude square spread its chilly gentle
breeze over the fountain, forcing its statue to sleep. Then came a
strange sensation. A smack in the face. A violent outburst. Where
should I go then ? I stopped thinking for my feet already knew where
to go. I could not keep on hiding inside and the sweetness of this
day for sure was foreshadowing the end of it. Karl was waiting for
me. On my way to the Sé Bar, I closed my eyes for a little while and
tried to picture the best place to be.
My
eyes fixed the sky and it felt nice. The dark blue of what is bigger
than what a soul could dive in cheered up the wind. My soul so big.
My needs so pure. My smile bigger than this universea.
Every single invisible footstep I made wondered how it felt like
being as high as the clouds and I finally understood. Wisdom and
peace of mind were both where extremes meet. In the middle. In
between. A perfect harmony balanced between the ground and the sky. I
opened my eyes and stared at what was in between. Nothing. Absolutely
nothing. No matter how hard the rain might pour. It would never fill
up what is in between – the safe zone of the soul. Oh my soul! You
are flying where your feet cannot walk. Oh my body! You are resting
under a tree, watching bees and butterflies fighting for daisies.
Your smile and your existence in between proves once more that even
what can fly struggles for freedom. Oh victory! I found it! My peace
of mind! Oh victory! My body now gazes at my soul bigger than the sky
embracing the Earth, stretching, kissing the sky. Somewhere in Dijon,
someone finally felt peaceful. I opened my eyes in front of the Sé
Bar and there he was.
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Not
really, no.”
He
smiled and kissed me on the cheek. 'How are you man?' he asked. All
my fears vanished. I switched off my emotions, ready to face the
stranger named Karl. 'I'm fine. How about you?' And it went on and on
for a couple of hours. He told me how handsome I looked and I told
him how beautifully he writes. When I asked him 'How do you write?',
he simply answered 'Sometimes, I just can't help but express how I
feel and shit. I just put it down on paper and let it go.' I remained
silent for a short while and then he asked me 'Do you write?'. He
ordered two pints of white beers .Me 'Only in my head. I cannot find
a way to put down words on the paper.'
'Have
you tried?' he asked. Me 'Not really, no.'
'How
do you know then?'
'Dunno.
I feel like I can't express words properly on the paper.'
'Take
this.' He handed a pen he took from his backpack. 'Could we have a
napkin please?' he asked to the waitress. 'And there you go! What's
in your mind. Be honest like you were yesterday.'
'About
that. I'm afraid I passed out the other night. I'm sorry for what I
did.'
'You're
sorry for what you did, huh?' he looked funny for he smiled but when
he answered he was somehow serious. 'Well I guess we smoked way too
much. I should be the one to feel sorry. I literally followed you
until you were home. In my defense, I was drunk and the waitress told
me you were taking my napkins and that you read them. I guess I was
curious. That's all. So there's no need for you to apologize or
whatever.'
'Ok.
I guess you're right.' Then he laughed and went on. 'So. What's on
your mind.'
'No
don't do that. I don't know how to write.'
'Oh
shut up! You know how to write. You just don't know what to write
about.'
'That's
the problem. What do you want me to write about?'
'Anything.
Absolutely anything! One day I wrote about a goldfish that committed
suicide.'
'You're
kidding!'
'No!
Its name was George.'
'George
the Goldfish?'
'That's
right! Now stop asking questions you already know the answer and tell
me what you want to write about.'
'I
really don't know. Maybe not tonight. I'm still tired from last
night.'
'Yes
you are.'
'I'm
not joking. I feel more like walking home.'
'Oh
I see. I'm sorry if I'm bothering you.'
'No
you're not; It's just that I really am tired and I don't feel like
being out tonight. I should go home. I spent the whole day at a
café.'
'What
did you do?'
'I
read poetry and then I came here.'
'I
see... well do you want me to come over your place? We may talk for a
while and then I'll leave you alone.'
'Or
we can do that too. I don't feel like sitting here all night.'
'Shall
we go ? Beers are on me. I insist. It's my way to apologize for
following you last night.' I laughed. He paid and then we went out.