WARSAW

 

With each passing minute, the streets of Warsaw were becoming increasingly crowded, for cars, buses, and pedestrians alike. Rushing to hundreds of locations, everyone wanted to be the first to arrive, even at the risk of being killed by the vehicles racing through the streets. It was almost time to leave work, so even more crowds were to be expected. Anyone who could get away from their desks earlier did so, saving at least an hour. Without being stuck in kilometer-long traffic jams. It was a hot June afternoon, the heat poured down, melting the asphalt beneath the feet of pedestrians. Everyone tried to hide in the shade. The city was full of sunshine and a stuffy atmosphere caused by the traffic jams that would continue for another month, until July 1st, when most people would be off on vacation.

I walked along the edge of the sidewalk, watching people who, like me, were in a hurry to get somewhere. It wasn't the people who imposed a certain pace on themselves in this city. You could simply feel it in the air, in the glances of people, and in the reactions of those around you, who always looked strangely at people walking by unless they looked like tourists or a couple in love. Especially if they did so in the most crowded places. The height of weirdness in this city was simply smiling at people, who would glance back at you if your expression seemed disturbingly pleasant. You had to accept these rules, or you could hate this place within a few months. It was a daily struggle with human stupidity, with others' dislike for you—because you took a seat they chose on the bus, stood in the wrong line, or pushed someone. Truth be told, we Poles have never been known for being polite to strangers, or to ourselves. You saw numb faces and eyes staring straight ahead, just to avoid your gaze. It happened every time I turned. I was sick of this city, but I knew I couldn't live anywhere else. Only here could I find hundreds of topics to discuss with my friends in a single afternoon. Something I wouldn't have been able to do anywhere else. Not counting, of course, the major European capitals. In my little world, I had everything, and more, within reach.

My bus was just pulling up to the pedestrian crossing on the other side of the intersection. I only had to get on, and it would take me home. I was heading straight toward the sun, which no cloud would obscure. The radio was predicting a savior storm, but it wouldn't arrive until evening or nightfall, and there were still six hours until sunset. The heat was still pouring down from the sky, squeezing every ounce of water from me.

I looked around again to make sure I wouldn't be run over on the street and crossed to the other side. I don't know why, but halfway to the bus stop, a figure caught my eye. I had to look closely, turning my head. At first, seeing the woman cowering in the shadow of a streetlight, I thought it was one of the dozens of beggars who frequent intersections. Only when I looked into her terrified eyes did I realize I'd misjudged her. There was something more to her than fear. I don't know what, but her gaze haunted me even after I'd fled from him. I kept seeing the woman's exhausted face and the straining chest to catch its breath. There was something about her like a disoriented animal surrounded by hunters.

One moment I saw the woman, and the next, I realized the bus had already passed me, taking advantage of the fact that there were no pedestrians in the crosswalk. I simply walked past her, feeling guilty for acting just like everyone else. I could find an excuse for myself for doing so.

Perhaps newcomers disliked Warsaw because of the callousness they encountered daily. Such was the dark side of life here, that one became anonymous, and with the loss of identity, people stopped noticing one. I felt like I was living under the assumptions of some system, instilled from birth, that one was only oneself at work and on the street where one had lived their entire life. Perhaps that's why it's so difficult for us to change jobs and places of residence. No one wants to be "nobody."

I don't know what kept me from approaching and asking if I needed help. Maybe I was afraid—like others—of the reaction to the help offered. Every time we see a disabled person, we fear they'll ask for a favor and we won't be able to refuse them. That they'll want to get home and we'll have to take them there. Our fear of responsibilities to the disabled was as great as that of adults who fear being burdened by their elderly parents.

Suddenly, I felt relief as I approached the sidewalk. A man standing near the woman reached for his cell phone. For a moment, I stopped worrying about running for the bus and her being left alone. Someone could have called for help. But... the man started talking to a friend, passing me and then the woman without a second thought.

Without looking back, I ran after the bus and hopped on at the last moment, missing the closing doors by centimeters. The bus was packed with people. Sweaty, exhausted by the heat, they were dozing on their seats or standing in the aisles, not trying to get in, as if afraid they wouldn't get off in time. Farther from the entrance, it was a bit more open. I found a seat next to a man reading a newspaper. He only glanced briefly to see who was blocking his light and then went back to reading.

I slowly made my way deeper into the bus, as far from the entrance as possible. I was tired of having my shoes trampled by the passengers getting off. Finally, I stood by the window, breathing in the fresh air that mingled with the bus's stench. Trying not to graze anyone with my elbows, I turned to look at the girl standing a mere meter away. Although in this crowd, it might as well have been a kilometer. She was maybe twenty-two, twenty-three at most. She stood in profile, her eyes fixed on a sign. One of those ZTM signs they stick on windows.

The bus stopped at a bus stop to pick up another group of sweaty people, who were brushing against me as they moved deeper into the vehicle. At a certain point, I started to watch the men, noticing the ways they held themselves to feel the touch of the buttocks, breasts, or hands of the girl I'd been observing. Finally, the girl realized that the crowd around her was deliberate. She slowly began to back away from the circle of men, ending up right next to me. She quickly glanced back, checking who she'd bumped into. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw I wasn't just another old, balding man. I moved back as far as possible under the circumstances and ignored the girl. As soon as she turned her head back, I allowed myself to notice a few details about her. She was wearing a black skirt, short enough that my imagination didn't have to strain to guess what kind of underwear she was wearing. She also had an unusual, for this time of year, olive complexion. Her tanned cleavage was highlighted by a contrasting white blouse, under which I couldn't see a bra. A silver ankle chain completed the whole thing, further emphasizing her desirable appearance. You could feel it on the bus, along with the elusive glances of eager men. You could also see the envy in the eyes of the other women, who would give anything to look like her. Each of them surely wanted to swap places with this girl for five minutes. To feel what it's like to attract all the male attention on the bus, on the street, in a store. I myself have often allowed myself to wander after a beautiful girl whose appearance provoked me, just to glance at her. But I was never provoked enough to make my gaze become intrusive. Perhaps that's why I've never heard anyone comment on me gazing at someone with a hint of satisfaction, mixed with desire, and sometimes with pure lust for a body I imagined naked beneath not-so-revealing clothing.

I found myself slowly undressing her with my eyes. I traced the curve of her neck as if kissing it, and my gaze sank into her cleavage, as if savoring the feel of her bare breasts against my face. I closed my eyes for a moment, and as the bus pulled out of the surrounding buildings, I felt the sun begin to pour back into the bus, scorching my skin. With each intersection we passed, the heat inside the bus grew more and more unbearable. Eventually, I stopped noticing what was happening around me. My body slowly began to turn into a vapor that could only condense with fresh air or a sip of cool water. At one point, I began to notice a faint squealing sound. It slowly grew louder until it filled my head. My heart pounded in my chest as if it wanted to break free. I tried to calm down, but the crowd was so intense that I was slowly falling into a kind of panic. I thought I was going to faint right there and no one would help me. That I would be treated with the same indifference as the woman I'd seen kneeling on the sidewalk. I tried to influence my subconscious, telling myself the attack would pass as quickly as all the others. Even that didn't help, because with each passing second, it was getting worse, not better. People crowded even closer around me to let the people getting off one by one. I don't remember who started pushing me, until I hit the railing. In fact, somehow, the impact with a hard object sobered me up, and as if through a fog, I saw the bus approaching the stop.

Suddenly, the fog turned to white spots, obscuring everything that had just been in my sight. I felt only the cool touch of the railing, to which I clung like a go-go dancer, pressing my burning forehead against it. I forgot everything that was still circling in my head. Only one thought possessed me: to get out of here. I was ready to scream, to punch everyone in front of me. If only someone would intervene and stop me from fainting. But I didn't. I just started slowly pushing my way through the invisible bodies, groping for places where they weren't, where I could slip through. I lowered my head a bit to let the blood flow to my brain, and then I felt the bus slow down until it finally came to a stop.

I heard a door open somewhere in the distance and felt a cool gust of wind. It felt like a bucket of cold water splashing against my face. This small amount of air allowed me to gather my strength and try to exit the bus. Pushing between the passengers, I heard only comments about me. I couldn't even pinpoint the author of several curses, because only shadows loomed before my eyes. I was so close. Suddenly, someone blocked my path and, realizing too late that I wouldn't be getting off, despite my persistent pleas to move. At the mere sight of my pale face and eyes that seemed blind, he moved. A few seconds after the doors closed and the bus moved on, plunging into the jammed road.

Knowing absolutely nothing, my mind rebelled. I begged myself not to fall, because then I wouldn't get up. I didn't remember how it happened, but someone came up to me and grabbed my arm. After a moment, I heard only a woman's voice. "Please let us pass... could you please move over? Can't you see he's feeling unwell?" Beside me, I heard a male voice, from which I deduced that its owner had been locked up for at least forty years. He was probably high on something. Just to make sure he didn't puke, another male voice echoed, undoubtedly belonging to the first one's friend.

Finally, a commotion arose around me, and I couldn't even react. I felt as if the next step would exhaust me completely and I would collapse where I stood. Supported by someone I couldn't even see, I staggered. For a moment, I felt relieved that I wasn't alone, but then I felt like running away, due to my weakness.

Finally, the bus stopped at the bus stop. I only heard the doors opening in front of me. Only then did I realize how sweaty I was. An unpleasant coldness coursed through my body. I wiped my forehead with my free hand, and a moment later, someone helped me off the bus. I must have been standing in the sun because the fog in front of my eyes had cleared. The person holding my arm said, "Sit down." With relief, I felt my knees bend and a bench appeared beneath me. I felt the edge and sat down, leaning my back against the wall of the bus stop where we had stopped. I felt better and better, but I still couldn't control my body movements. It must have looked comical, shifting my legs, which had given up on me. People passing me were probably wondering if I was drunk or on drugs. Which I didn't care about at that moment. I was just glad I was no longer standing on a bus.

Only now did I feel a shiver run through my body. My relaxed muscles reacted this way after a dozen or so minutes of exertion. When tense to the limit, they held me upright. I didn't even have the strength to support myself with my hands; I sat there, bent double, with my head bowed. "

Can you hear me?" That woman's voice sounded familiar to me. "Are you feeling better?" "Can you hear me?" I heard perfectly, though the voice seemed to be coming from beyond the milky whiteness that enveloped my vision. For a moment, I wondered if the voice was a result of fainting. I bowed my head even lower, feeling the blood rushing to my temples and spreading, along with nourishing oxygen, throughout my brain. This time, the voice didn't emerge from the tunnel of my subconscious, so I could shake my head in denial when asked if I was going to vomit. At least, that's what it seemed to me, shaking my head. The woman asking must have understood the sign, because I didn't hear the question again, nor did she move away from me. She continued to hold my arm, afraid I'd fall off the bench. I lifted my head sharply and inhaled deeply of the toxic city air. Again, I felt beads of sweat trickling down my forehead. I wiped them away and covered my eyes with my hands, as if something were hurting me.

The first thing I could see for several minutes was my own hand. I don't think I'd ever been happy to see that part of my body since birth. After that, I saw the whole world, the same as it had been before my attack. Completely unmoved by what was happening to me. It was just a city, dismissive of weakness. I took comfort in the fact that I wasn't going to be the last to suffer this injustice.

The voice that had helped me get off the bus faded, and I stopped feeling the hand that had held me on the bus. It all seemed like a dream as I sat at the bus stop, seeing the Holiday Inn hotel ahead of me and hearing only the clatter of shoes as people went down to the underground next to the train station.

"How are you feeling now?" I heard the familiar voice again, this time on my right. A girl sat down next to me, holding a bottle of mineral water. "This is for you, please drink." I recognized the voice as the woman who had helped him off the bus. She looked at me with a reassuring smile, and there was something in her eyes I hadn't seen in anyone for a long time: concern for me. She had dark brown hair that contrasted with very light pupils. I smiled back slightly and thanked her for the water she'd given me. It was the woman who helped me off the bus, I asked, even though I knew the answer perfectly well. "Yes..." she asked, "Please drink slowly." She poured it down her blouse. She held the bottle so that a small stream flowed into my mouth. It seemed a bit ridiculous that she was helping me with such a trivial task, but in a way, it was kind of nice. When I saw you pale and your eyes start to roll, I got the impression you needed help. I wanted to ask her again, this time why she did it, but she beat me to it. "I think it was because you were looking at me that way, so I went over and helped you. I have a minor heart problem, and on days like this, I feel worse. Riding crowded buses in the heat of the day isn't good for me at all. I wanted to reach for a cigarette, but I changed my mind and put the pack back in my pocket. I'm sorry, I should really thank you for your help, and I don't think I've done that yet. I didn't even introduce myself to my rescuer. "Paweł," I said, and shook her hand. Monika smiled again, this time a little differently. There was a touch of mystery in that smile, beneath which was the ever-eyed scrutiny. Women always looked at me, assessing me. After a few words exchanged in the hallways, at the drinks table, in the aisles to the restrooms, they always felt they knew me perfectly. They trusted me. After a few minutes, they were able to agree and take me home. I never stayed the night, but that terrified them even more. They thought they could trust someone like that. They never closed their doors or beds to me anymore. Unless someone appeared in their lives, then I would disappear from their lives without longing, only to call them a few months later, asking if I could come back. They were just as lonely as me, but they were always searching for something. I always found, in all of them, what was missing in my life. And that terrified them, that they could give themselves so completely that they didn't even know if they were promising me anything. When they made love, they would shout pleas and curses, and I would remain silent. That always meant the end, because no one could love someone who seemed to have no dreams for anything. You often dream of someone who isn't there, and I seemed to only think of them when they were with me. They couldn't trust the same way anymore, because I never hurt them, except for a few arguments. They couldn't understand that a person could be faithful.may be jealous of everything and only demand devotion without giving anything in return.

It's nice, I mean it sincerely, and if I could repay you at least in some way. Coffee? Tea? Beer. I'd be happy. You always pick up girls by fainting, Monika asked jokingly. "I don't have a habit of doing this every day, but if I succeed this time, I'll try it at the disco next time. I wouldn't advise it; it might turn out to be a mistake. Why do you think so? You never know who will save you from trouble. What, do you think next time it might be a muscular bruiser in a mesh blouse with the charming name Zenek? That depends on whether you like that kind of guy. Probably not, only women with certain personality traits are considered. And what are those traits? She has to be witty, confident, and capable of saving men from fainting spells." The girl didn't reply, leaving me with the impression that I'd made a fool of myself by saying that. She's practically the perfect woman. Maybe she should have something more, Monika said, seeing me looking around, searching for the right word to continue the conversation, maybe some appearance would otherwise remain only a ghost. She should have dark hair, a captivating smile, and mysterious eyes like yours. You can work magic, and you almost succeeded; I'd even say you were close to giving me my number. What stopped me from succeeding? Your finger, or rather, the wedding ring you wear. She gestured to the silver ring on her right hand. "You're talking about that," I said, raising my hand as if to make sure we were thinking of the same thing. It's a souvenir from a vacation, not a collar. If a woman wanted to wear one like that on her finger and say the sacramental "I do," I wouldn't be wandering around town drinking beer with my friends on a day like this. She probably wouldn't let me. If you say so... Don't believe me? Ask my mother; after all, she would know her son was married; I would tell her. "How am I supposed to ask her?" Monika asked. It was clear she was enjoying this conversation and wanted to continue it as much as I did. "First, you'll meet me for coffee, then for a movie, and then I'll introduce you to my parents. Then you'll have a chance to ask her. And what will your mom say about you bringing a stranger home? Nothing, she'll have to accept it; after all, you'll be the mother of her grandchildren. What grandchildren? What do you mean, what kind? You don't know anymore, it'll be a boy and a girl. We'll name them Maciek and Dorota. Did you just come up with that yourself? Before you suspected I was married, right after we planned our honeymoon. That's interesting. So, how do I get your phone number? No... And I tried so hard, well, it's always worth a try. Do you always give up so easily when you hear a woman say no? No, they usually scream "help" and then "police," until they finally kick me in the groin and I let them go. This time I decided to give up before you kick me. I'm not used to kicking strangers. It only seems that way to you; you don't even know how easy it is to get used to it. Try it once and it's addictive,in the end you can't control it and you even greet your boss with a powerful blow to the sensitive spot between your legs.

We sat there for another fifteen minutes, during which I managed to tell her almost my entire life, including my escape from preschool, my elementary school years, my first loves, and my first breakups. Not to mention presenting every ex-girlfriend in at least a slightly favorable light. Yes, if only Monika had changed her mind and decided to go out with me. She was adamant about this, so I thanked her again for saving me from my predicament, and we had to say goodbye. She simply asked if I could handle it on my own. I replied that I would definitely make it home by then. We shook hands and each of us went our separate ways.

Something compelled me to turn around and watch her walk away in an unknown direction. I just thought that I had met someone close to me again, and maybe a few years would pass before I accidentally ran into her on a Warsaw street. It all seemed like a dream that would end, leaving a void inside me that nothing would fill for several days. It was always like this when I met someone I could immediately confide the secrets of my life to. And Monika was that kind of person.

Passing a newsstand, I was momentarily dazed, so much so that I had to lean against the window.

The next attack came unexpectedly. It hit me so hard that my legs wobbled beneath me. I stepped away from the window for a moment, and my feet flew out from under me. Falling backward, I narrowly missed a concrete dumpster, saving my head from shattering. I only felt myself faint again, and someone kneeled beside me, whispering my name, and then...

...I saw him. He was standing over me, right next to the girl I'd met earlier. He was huge, bigger than a normal person. He seemed to be three meters tall. His head was framed by silver hair. He looked just as I'd imagined him. With a worried expression and eyes the color of fiery gold. A gaze that could pierce everything. Before I could think, he seemed to already know.

The white feathers of his wings moved in a breeze I couldn't feel on my face. He seemed to come from God Himself. Even though his brilliance outshone the earthly sun, I could still look at him. The only thing that offended me was his gaze, which burned within, more than the worst guilt. At the same time, it seemed to be an eternal gentleness that terrified me even more.

When he spread his wings to soar into the sky, I felt a blissful peace in my heart. It was as if he had stripped me of my earthly worries. I didn't worry about whether he would take me with him. It was as if what lay behind me and before me had lost all meaning. The angel, the devil—whoever this being was—seemed to exist only in my mind. He was the purest revelation, taking on a visible form. He appeared to my soul, and I recognized him, knowing he was closer to me than any other human being. For a moment that didn't concern him, he was with me. Enveloping me in everything any human would call life and time, he gave solace to my torn soul, which was tossing between one world and another. I no longer had to be afraid, because...she lay beside me now. Her head rested on the pillow, her hair spread across the sheets. I watched her from the moment she closed her eyes until the moment she opened them. As she slept, I listened to her inhale and exhale. Her chest rose and fell, and I watched her part her lips, licking them in her sleep.

It was getting darker outside, and I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake her, so I lay on my side. Occasionally, I glanced at the clock on the nightstand behind her head. It was approaching midnight. I thought she had woken up when she lifted her head, but she had only rolled over. I felt her shift back in the bed, searching for my body. Finally, she found my hips and nestled her buttocks against them. I lowered my head so my lips touched her shoulders and wrapped my arms around her waist. She reached for my hand and pressed it against her breasts. Feeling the warmth radiating from them, I pressed myself closer to her back. I felt every inch of her naked body, awakening my desire once again. I wanted to let her sleep, but deep down, I longed for her to wake up for a moment. I slowly ran my hand over her breasts, dipping between them, then running my hands along her stomach. I caressed her pubis and the insides of her legs. Finally, she reached behind her and led me between her thighs. She turned her head toward me and smiled at me. "I see you like this," she said, rubbing against me with languid movements. I felt desire welling up inside her. It excited her to have me so close without even trying to slip inside her. She reached over her shoulder for my head and gently signaled for me to kiss the nape of her neck. I squeezed her breasts harder, eliciting another sigh of pleasure from her. She squeezed her thighs even tighter. We continued to explore our perfect fit, letting our desire carry us away.

"What time is it?" Monika asked as she covered herself with a sheet. "It's almost one o'clock," I replied. She snuggled into my chest and, purring like a cat, embraced me. "For the first time in months, I felt safe. And only with you, even though I don't even really know you. We don't always get to know someone completely, even when we're willing to die for them," I replied. "I don't stop others from discovering me when they already want to know me," she said. I brushed her hair away from her forehead and leaned in to kiss her. "A parental kiss, like a father's?" "Don't you like it when someone kisses you like that?" "No, but it reminds me of some fatherly gesture. Is that bad? I don't...do I? I had a strange dream.

It was four in the morning, the sun would rise in an hour, and the birds were already beginning their morning concert. I couldn't sleep; something kept waking me up, maybe because I wasn't at home." We were lying on a mattress; the room was large enough for one person to share it. Two other beds revealed that Monika didn't live alone. "Can I tell you," she asked. "Of course. You won't say later that I didn't let you sleep." No. It sounded equally strange to me and to her. We'd only known each other for twelve hours, and before that, I hadn't thought about what had happened in any other time than the present. I didn't say a word, just waited for her to begin. It was so real, at one point I couldn't tell what was real and what was just an illusion. "And what is real to you right now," I asked. "You are, aren't you? Tell me I'm not dreaming. You're not dreaming, although it might seem that way when I think about what happened in the last few hours. I don't think you regret what you did, or rather, we both did... and even if you do, lie and say you don't regret it. I don't regret it, and I can't lie when someone asks me what I'd like to leave out of my life." There's something about him. I don't think I've ever done anything against my will and wanted to deny it. Especially someone like you. The longer I listen to you, the more I feel like I'm still dreaming, only this time I don't want to break free. I moved closer to Margaret and climbed on top of her. Under the pressure of my knees, she spread her legs, and I pressed myself against her bare bosom. "Now I'm absolutely certain this isn't a dream," she said. The smile vanished from her face for a moment, and she added, quite seriously, "I thought everything would be different when I woke up. And what would it be like? More like waking up two people who can't remember what made them go to bed together. Do I remember? Yes, but what? The closeness of two people, never before experienced in the arms of another person, I sometimes call it magic. You're right."

I dreamed I was getting married, except I didn't know who. I mean, I remember the man's face perfectly—even now I can still picture it vividly—but it was completely alien to me. It was like I'd never met him before. So when I found out I was going to marry him, I was even more terrified. "Do you know how it feels when you're absolutely certain of something in a dream?" Monika asked, not even waiting for my reaction. "That's how certain I was that I knew this man in just a few minutes." As we stood in the church porch, waiting for the ceremony to begin, I told him I didn't love him. I tried to explain to him that I wouldn't make the mistake of getting married so quickly. Only to make another mistake later by divorcing him. Do you know what he said to that? That love would come in time, and he pulled me to the altar. Kneeling before the priest, I whispered in his ear that I wasn't ready for such a burden and such a sacrifice. I really didn't want what we were doing. Somehow, I convinced him, and he finally gave in. He just looked at me and rose from his knees. He took the microphone from the priest's hands and addressed the people gathered in the church. When he told them the wedding wouldn't take place, I felt relief. It was like a weight had lifted from my heart. I thought then that this was how I wanted to feel, and... I woke up. This might sound silly, but the first moment I woke up, I had the impression that you were the man from the dream. But you weren't. I'm done. I must have bored you terribly.

Not at all. I'm silent because your dream gives you a lot to think about. You said you saw his face clearly. That's strange, because we usually only associate a certain person with a figure we can't recognize by their features. In dreams, most faces are blended shapes, impossible to recognize. I saw him and... I could even recognize him on the street if he passed me. I just don't know why I had such a dream?

You just have to reject what seems like a possible answer and accept the most prosaic one. Namely? That it was a kind of warning, perhaps from your guardian angel. But what am I trying to warn me about? About the next step you might have taken, but which your subconscious wouldn't accept. I don't see the logical sense in it. Maybe you shouldn't get involved with anyone right now, because life is made up of different moments. And this isn't the right moment yet. The dream is your fear of the person you were supposed to love. Maybe that's why you saw him so clearly, as a sign that he was nearby. Two steps behind you, or even ahead of you, but you can't really see who he is, no matter how much you want to discover it. I don't want to reduce everything to my own person, but I was the one who said that love is born over time. That it's built on the ruins of obstacles that two people overcome together. Only, you no longer remembered that. I think you're right, because I actually dreamed of a man who didn't exist, because it was a picture of someone I never knew, even though I was supposed to marry him. Małgosia answered her own questions about the meaning of her own dream.

Truthfully, a permanent bond between people who have never met is like looking at a coin lying on the ground and not being able to pick it up. You know the other side is tails when you see tails before you. You won't know its value until you turn it over. So who is that other side to reveal? The girl knew perfectly well what she was asking, looking at me now. Certainly not me. I kissed her on her parted lips and pulled her closer to me before she even wanted to ask.

Why does it have to be your way? Because I know he's out there somewhere, waiting for him. It feels like God gave me this moment in my life to meet you and say what I just said. Why don't you tell me everything will work out, that it will get better, and I'll fall asleep peacefully, unawakened by nightmares. If I let anyone believe that love is so close to us both, I'd only be condemning someone to suffering. And you should move on with your life, not because I tell you to, but because destiny wants you to. Your guardian angel. And couldn't you be one? No, I said, and then my heart ached like never before. I couldn't catch my breath, to scream. I fought for a moment for every ounce of air in my lungs, until I felt them tearing apart, and I saw darkness before my eyes, even though just a moment ago I'd seen the first rays of sunlight heralding a new day with the birds. The girl was saying something to me, her frightened eyes filled with tears and a pain I didn't want to cause her. But I wasn't there to comfort her and cradle her in my arms