The Woman I Love

by HelluvaGirl

I took a CD from the pile of them lying scattered around in my living room - just to find it was scratched, too. It's very old. I burnt it when she left for Spain. Fijacion oral vol. 2 by Shakira. I would listen to it and miss her sweet-and-sourly. I'd remember our teas and conversations in her dim room, her huge and angry dog being locked away to not scare me; and how she gave me the Book that made me see and clayed my spine; and how I tried to learn Spanish, and how cutely we aspired that I'd come and live there, close to her; and how I think I got sick like her because I respected her so much... We were each other's league! We were kids but we knew it all. We would skip school. I told her everything. And I would have dreams of us in Spain, me wandering in shady places, looking and waiting for her, not being afraid of cobwebs and darkness. I once found her in a sunlit room full of people. She lay on the floor stark naked like an exhibit, and I actually spoke to her in Spanish. She was so majestic and fragile at the same time, like a child in a woman's body. I must confess, I still see it in her today. And even though we grew apart, it is amazing how I can still call her and tell her five sentences about my heart blossoming or breaking, and she would say five words, helping me find the missing pieces and she would just get it. And I would remember: that's her, she reads it all in my 10 words instead of 100. We grew up by the same Book, you see. We are both survivors and we seem to speak the same language, though it is not Spanish. Have you noticed there are few people we are blessed with in certain stages of our lives: they seem to enhance our being, sort of push us to the brim of the springboard - and we glide. So easy... when you've met a soul and you know you are each other. And that it extends beyond one lifetime, too.

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