"Life is only a word, there is love and there is death"

That particular morning was no different than any other. No
famous poems were written that day, nor was any political
figure assassinated. A mid autumn morning it was, the sky
seemed low, filled with dusty clouds, heavy on the move
despite the quite strong wind. The sun, hidden by this
grayish mass, delivered a somewhat yellow unpleasant light,
weak yet uncomfortable to the eyes. The air, almost
impossible to breath because of the heat and dust, was as if
oily. The streets were starting to fill up with the local
inhabitants, hurrying with their daily chores and muttering
about the weather. A gray mongrel dog, driven mad by its
remarkable collection of fleas and bugs, was staring
gloomily at a group of small birds that were pecking dry
seeds from the ground near the parking lot. A nearby meat
restaurant opened up, and the air was suddenly filled with
the odors of fried nuggets, chips and misused vinegar,
adding even more flavor to the already-smelly atmosphere.
The owner of the meat restaurant, a fat wrinkled woman with
over-tanned skin, bleached hair and teeth that looked like
the inside of an unwashed teacup, was smoking a short
dog-end and spitting on the gravy with a grace of a camel
driver, eyeing the street with a malicious expression on her
rumpled face. A sleepy driver missed the yellow light, and
the birds were raised into the air by the screaming of tires
on the bumpy asphalt.

None of this, however, was of any interest to a young man
that has woken up several minutes beforehand in his darkened
room on the third floor of a nearby building. He didn't care
for the smell of food, nor neither for the cursing of the
driver that blew his front tire as a result of the sudden
halt, nor for anything that happened anywhere. He was lying
in his bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling, his fingers
half-heartedly drawing unseen patterns on the blanket. His
face lacked any expression, except of extreme weariness and
a somewhat lost look. He was tired. His dreamless nights
were always short, and the days full of memories and sounds
of his prior life, were unbearably long. He tried to close
his eyes again, to let the black sheet of sleep to cover
him, but each time he did that, the vision of Her face
appeared in the depths of his mind, sending a dull pain down
his spine, into his guts.

A memory surfaced slowly, reluctantly. A Math exam. Today.
Another memory floated the fact that he didn't study.
Furthermore, he had no idea what was the material. Oh well.
He wasn't excited by the fact. His emotions were quite
vacant lately. He sat upright in his bed, and lowered his
feet on the floor. The cold touch of the stone brought some
clearance into his much-pained mind. He breathed heavily,
and after a few minutes of consideration, dragged himself to
the bathroom. Then, all of a sudden, She has filled his
memory again, so intense was her image that he swayed,
bumped himself painfully on the doorway, and slipped down on
the floor, his back pressed against the wall. He pushed the
back of his head hard onto the wall, feeling as if his
throat was seized by a deadly grip. He tried to breathe, his
hands searched for something to hold on, but it was too
late. The sob came out, hitting the walls of the bathroom,
sending echoes all over. The knuckles on his fists whitened,
his teeth were bared, his jaw locked. Then came another sob,
and another. And another. The young man stuck his face in
between his bare knees, his body shaking. Tears ran down his
lean cheeks, down his hands that were now pressed against
his head. He missed so many things about her, he needed her,
he called her, his lips moved silently, calling her name.
But he knew there will be no answer. Never again. And that
knowledge struck him each time anew, always more intense,
always cutting deeper and deeper. He cried, cried for her,
for himself, for the everlasting pain that drove him out of
his mind, drove him to wonder the streets at night, to
search for something he didn't even know what was it. He
cried because of the misery, the loneliness, the toothless
anger that was ripping him apart, limb by limb . . .

After some time, he didn't know how much, he rose up
heavily, feeling broken and tired even more. The pain, that
never left him, was now bluntly stabbing his mind, causing a
continuous pain behind his eyes. He washed his face,
shivering from the touch of the icy water that bit his dry
skin like thousands of little needles. He raised his face,
and looked in the eyes of the man in front of him.

The image was, so to speak, quite unpleasant. The quite long
curly hair was in total disarray. The dark round rings
around the runny eyes with the heavy, red eyelids, the pale
skin gave an impression of a very sick person. The young man
examined himself in the mirror, and smiled. It was not a
joyful smile, oh no. His teeth bared, his eyes shining in
the gloom, he reminded himself of a wolf too tired to run
from the hunters, yet ready to make the final stand against
uneven forces. He felt his fingers forming a fist, and then,
with an animal scream, he hit the mirror, exactly where his
face was impressioned. The shards cut through his flesh,
like sharp claws of the undying pain inside his heart. He
stroke it again and again, screaming . . .

-"Are you alright?" asked a worrying female voice.

His eyes snapped open, scanning his surrounding nervously,
in fear. A pretty, but disturbed face came into view, a
young girl sitting in front of him.

-"Are you ok?" she asked again, her long fingers with sharp
nails graciously moving over his sweaty palm. "Have you been
dreaming a bad dream?"

The young man looked around him, allowing his eyes to adjust
to the sun pleasantly lighting the inside of a half empty
morning bus, rocking slightly on the road, the seats
creaking in union. He felt the cold sweat running down his
back, his short hair was wet as well, his body stiff. He
looked at the worried face of the girl, licked his dry lips
and smiled. He smiled, and the years of his life passed as a
surreal movie in front of his eyes. He looked out of the
window, his smile deepening, until it reached his eyes.

-"Yes", he smiled at her, "a very bad dream". She smiled
back.

-"Well, it's over now" she said, patting him on the hand
again, and stood up. "My stop" she said, almost
apologetically, and was gone.

The young man sat there for a while, until he recognized it
was his time to get off. He stepped through the door, and
the light, soft and pleasant, covered him. The soft chilly
wind ran through his hair, like soft fingers. He looked
around, and smiled again, a smile so strange that the young
girl wouldn't have understood it if she saw him now. He has
remembered the dream he was dreaming last night. Horses, it
seems.

-"Yes, it's over now" he whispered, and, adjusting the bag
on his shoulder, stepped into a new day. And She was there
with him, just like all other pieces of his memory, swirling
inside his mind like a huge, colorful vortex.