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The delightful melody of the wind

I  was a romantic in a random and hypocritical world. At least, I was long time ago. A mind in a misleading and idealized world. I have been never in love and I ever did not care. Trying to be happy, I needed all my mental and physical effort. I lived in a town near to Barcelona, a metropolis of  lights, but my city was dark, sad and dull.

I could never understand its people and I never knew their concerns, their ideals and their deepest thoughts; keeping the eyes on the floor, looking every step they took, erroneous steps. They looked like plastic dolls, simple toys, without humanity or mentality.

I wanted to go unnoticed, to be like them. I did not know how to talk to them so I always kept a smile and spoke with kind and educated words. My mouth said words that were actually far away from the reality, but what I wish to say was not of interested for anyone (or It was what I thought). Too deep words for porcelain figurines.

I was on the street, lost in a sad and bleak winter, like everyone else, I walked through the narrow, dirty and wet, cold and desert roads, to my homeward, my sweet hole, my stash and prison. My room full of regrets and curses, my fury…
I had a grim, as always, the office was not for me, I was a free woman: air on the face, dawns, idyllic landscapes. Unfortunately, I can only find all of these things in fantasy books. The office was simply a chaotic black hole, a place immersed in sunlight, composed of ignorant colleagues and incompetent and abusive bosses. This whole madness vanished while I was on the chair, sitting with glasses on, leafing through one of those books that makes you fly, swim and jump to infinity, where there are not even starts.

The light was dim, my lamp emitting a very soothing orange glimmer light, the windows closed, the shades and a sweet music that made me every night to read. It was the best time of day: alone, quiet…
I fell asleep because of so harmonious environment, held the book in my hands and the music played. It was 3 p.m. and the next day I had to get up early, still Thursday. I turned off the music and left the book on the coffee table. At that time I began to hear a noise, shocks, a door opened and closed because of the wind. I went into the hall, but did not seem to be any door of my landing. I went upstairs to the attic, slow, quiet and very happy, I liked walking around at night, so dark, so much perfection.

At night everything was fine, so much darkness hides this world so miserable, people infested streets by day, but by evening all the birds returned to their nests, hiding from the moon, the morning freshness, the owls, the dark and unknown. I was in the attic, indeed there came the sound of wind. It was an old, worn, without knob… I could not close the door.

I came in the apartment, I was poking around there, there lived time ago some school partner, but now they were out, had moved far away. Family issues. It still kept the furniture, the pictures… when I saw it a cold sweat ran down my back, the plants on the balcony, as before when we were young. A sweet melody captured me, I was not sure what it was, a violin, a piano or a single voice, but musicality that paralyzed me, driving my look inside the room. Simple and humble.

Sitting on bed there it was. I only saw its shadow, still, realizing my presence stopped, that happy, sad, melancholy and cheerful harmony ended, vanished along with its author. But despite having gone, I kept there, standing with my eyes in the darkness of the place, thinking about the Nothing.Upon came back home, this did not send me any serenity or calm, I could not forget the peculiar shadow, all these gentle sensations felt within my four walls vanished, now that I produced discomfort, nausea, disgust, if I was not there that black cloud. It was not afraid, on the contrary, I felt attraction.

On Friday afternoon I felt weird, something inside me had grown, developed and changed, my final judgment, between love and hate, kindness and disgust, life and death… everything. I was in another boat of the universe, led by the perfect melody, wind, heading towards the sky, a peaceful place full of warmth. And I did not want to lose it. That same night, at 3 p.m I went again to the attic. I wanted to hear it, feel it and see it again. That’s how it went. It was there, just to take a step I started to get into a kind of dream induced by the smell of the wind, the sound, the warmth. I could not get out of this, I did not want.
I sat on a chair toward the darkness, shadow, closed my eyes, I settled and there was, still, placid and calm, waiting not pass the house, wanting to stay there forever. I did the same for three months, that’s when I started asking questions, questions that may not have answers or that they could not understand. What was this shadow? What was that melody? Why I was induced in a passive state? When would I meet the shadows, who should be, the neighbor? For everything I just thought one thing, take a flashlight. Brighten the dark cloud, that cloud began to love so much, and so would left doubts. I did what I said.
A Monday night I went up each of the steps as always, I was prepared and psyched. My heart hardened. I opened the creaked door, the wind hit the windows, the curtains flew like waves in the sea, everything was dark, only moonlight spying our movements easier to know where I went. The door to the room was locked. My neck tension, sweaty and trembling, opened it slowly and carefully, not wanting to scare me, poke my head and there stood between the fragile moonlight, there on the bed was like every night at three, and such as absorbing and enjoyable musicality heard louder, sending desires where it touch. I turned on the flashlight despite the nerves, heading to bed. I envisioned the light to a plastic dancer twirling around a pink carousel, I kept a smiling face and the artist for romantic sadness that filled its soul and gnawed the brain and of the heart. “Hooray, horray,” I cried as my crystal dripping bitter tears and blackened eyes on the carpet, “Hooray” Enraged and dejected.
I felt round without soothing, the balm had a caustic effect. The worst was the dawn, everything was dark, cold seeped into my bones inside, in every part of my being. It looked like a mummy without their bandages, a bird without its peak, a soul without a body. It seemed nothing in a world empty and hollow. My conviction of happiness evaporated like water in the desert just I read that sentence.

“We regret the lost of our sister Esperanza Roselló, who at the age of twenty four years has been at the Lord’s side. We hope that is not remembered as a suicidal coward, but as a Catholic eager to meet God. Amen”

The brief of my magnificent tombstone was “Hope we can only hope.”But for me there were not anything else that that delightful melody of the wind.

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Mi nombre es Lídia Gilabert y aquí dejo mis humildes creaciones, diseñadas con el mayor mimo y amor para el disfrute de todos los lectores.


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