It was past three in the morning, I might be wrong, but that day I didn't have a clock and I had forgotten that mobiles also give time. I knew it was too late because she used to disappear first of her friends without warning, leaving no clues where her next place would be. That deadnight was a very cold Thursday night in half of February. She stayed until the end just before I left.
Sometimes she drew imaginary circles in the sky of her glass. Other times she drank wine or moved her head sideways to the rhythm of the music. I did not know if she was distracted, thinking or just imagining... I know, this is all a grotesque maybe: maybe she was only distracted in the stars of the glass; maybe lost somewhere in America; or maybe just being. Maybe, maybe, perhaps, yes, but my bet was that she would be far down of the chaos of the smoke coming up over that ashtray adorned with skulls and she simply would be thinking in the beauty of chaos. Once she returned from there she would be smiling again as she does when comes back to the real world.
Death, skulls, smoke, stars and her glass: half full or half empty. I think half empty. Maybe. I did not know.
And her tattoos. The symbology must be important to her, a faithful canvas of her marks both in life and in ink with good and bad scars not to be interpreted for others, I think.
She got up, bought something at the bar and sat back over and over. She wore a white dress full of roses with thorns, round neck, and one of the her black bra straps was slightly coming out. It was a strange mix, I mean, those tattoos and her dress. I thought I had my answer; the dress was before her tattoos and she was the outcome of a transformation that didn't finish yet. Yeah, falling in my own cherry picking and, simpler than that, she would like that dress and would likes roses enough to get tattooed another huge rose in her back.
Her nails were careless painted black and combined with her military boots. Her freckles hidden at night but blowing during the daylight. And always, always, she seemed to be in a hurry: to come back to her table, to her mind or maybe to get out of there.
Now she was drawing something on a napkin. She colored it in black. Sometimes I saw her beauty dark brown eyes, her lips and her sweet smile. But then, in an instant flash her face darkened and something sinister came out. The song All Of The Stars was playing in the pub. Maybe she hates the lyric just like me.
The song ended and she was no longer there. As I said, without warning.
I got up, said goodbye to the waiter and wished myself another night with she and me, here and there. Finally, I went to her table and saw she had left a drawing. It was a ship with pirate flags fighting against wind and storm. In her ashtray she left several cigarettes with her lipstick(wine color) and a black rose on the floor that for sure combined with her boots, her nails and so to herself.
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