Just a whisper
By Sara Passerini
Five o’clock.
The emotion I feel coming back home when the sun is rising, tired, not sharp, in love.
Just three wishes: a shower, a warm body close to mine, a cigarette to accompany the last words before falling asleep. The cool I feel going out of pubs crowded of smoke and sweat, the smell of another night at the end, the cling of myself to a pitchy hand, the pulse of a tasty night on my eyes.
Walk in the middle of the street, even better if it rain secretly, before; so the air seems to clean the lungs and the last energies are just perfect to dog the puddles.
Face the front and see the sun, slow to grow – Turn back and realize that is still night.
Embryo day, Terminal night.
Five o’clock, ready to go home. Notice I lost a jumper and laugh because I’m happy, because the forgotten jumper is a barter with the positive I feel, because I could lose my wallet, because even if this world is going to the dogs it granted us superlative moments.
Out of pub, me and you. Deafness. Dope smiles between us. Slow brains. Love everywhere. No cars, silent, scent of awakening. You hug me with your right, we close till the last button of the jacket. I threat my hand in your pocket, as warm as the blanket that in five minutes will protect us.
Five o’clock, we silently plan our future while the day’s ready to born and we walk already in the dream. Using the word today referred to yesterday, reviewing things to do tomorrow that is already today. Five o’clock, almost six. Home, cosy hideaway. Shhssshhh, let’s not wake up anybody. Shower of three seconds, just for. Last cigarette to take our leave from the dream we lived and collapse in the overpowering one of sleep. Impalpable music to cherish a little while more. Half-nacked and smooth you kiss my forehead, then you turn. Duvet up till the nose. I breath on your back and I close my eyes. Just a whisper: good night. And nimble the day begins.
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