She was sitting on her bed, eating the crackers he had bought that afternoon. He sat on a chair next to her desk, looking over at her. She smiled. He’d have asked if he could eat some of the crackers himself, but he knew how much she liked them. It was 1 a.m. in the morning. The house was completely silent.
What a lucky guy I am, he thought. Do you know how much I care for you, he imagined asking her. He didn’t dare breaking the silence. He didn’t know what it was that made him feel as if he was embracing the whole world, but the chances that this silence was the reason seemed too great to take the risk.
I am hovering next to your dreams, floating through your feelings, flying with your wings. Let me gently touch on your silk-like skin, let me take away one teardrop and I will swim in an ocean.
It was a warm summer’s night with a gentle breeze and somewhere, people were still walking through the streets, breathing the fresh air, looking at the stars and enjoying themselves. But the outside didn’t matter to him. A sentence out of a book came to his mind, without being able to remember the novel’s title: “You travel the world searching for the perfect moment. I have discovered that a perfect moment can be a world on its own.” That’s it, he thought, this is a world on its own, our world to us alone.
The door opened and her brother came in. He apologized and got the cd back he had lent her. It’s okay, she replied. But it wasn’t. This world had ended. And he hadn’t even knocked.