“When I thought I had forgotten you, you came back” he said to her, in tears.
Everyone had told him throughout his life that men were not allowed to cry. That was a tool used by women and by women only, a tool and a privilege that was in the hands of only those who were week; week being synonym of women, as they had taught him.
“Why” he managed to say, continuing in a failed attempt to control his flooded eyes. He was week after all, no matter how much he was trying, his eyes were independent of his thought, expressing the deepest of sorrows in the only way they knew how.
She got closer to him, took his face with her soft hands and lift it up so his marvelous eyes would meet hers. He saw then how her lips got closer to his face, they were not going to meet his mouth though. She kissed his right eye, which he closed by mere instinct when her lips approached. She moved back, slowly, watching him as he stopped crying. Another kiss, on his right eye this time.
“Because I’m always with you, the difference is that you forget it”, she replied to him. Watching his reddish eyes open slowly, as if coming out of a peaceful dream.
Their hands holding. Their souls looking for hidden secrets in each other eyes, black irises meeting blue ones in the middle of a playground.
A boy who once fell and learned to stand up, helping a little girl who fell beside him but had trouble in the same learning.
Now the girl, helping the boy stand straight through his sorrow, reminding him of how the love for each other was their best book of life, their way of living and the only thing that keep them truly alive.