martes, 29 de abril de 2014

Being in love

Hoy estaba inspiradilla con esta canción y decidí retomar unos personajes sobre los que escribía que hacía tiempo que no utilizaba. Tenía ganas de intentar escribir en inglés. Espero no haber metido mucho la gamba gramaticalmente xD

Today I was inspired with this song and I decided to write something using this old character that I don't use since very long ago. I wanted to give it a try and write something in english. Hope I didn't mess up to much with english grammar xD.

It had been a long time since they last met. Their encounters were like a parallel universe, a different reality that made time and space fade around them. Twelve, thirty, fifty… it didn't matter. When he was around... the age, the context, didn't matter at all. The only important thing was the deep tone of his voice, the arm that rested gently wrapped around her waist, that feeling of belonging, of knowing each other but mixed with that other one of freedom and understanding. 

It was difficult to explain, though. They couldn't really say they had a relationship. It was something more. They didn't stick to the same rules of human affection that others usually worship. They didn't live together, nor give each other tiring explanations about everything. It was mostly encouragement to follow their dreams, love, pure and real love for the other person, including their freedom. They were free to live, paint their futures the way they wanted to, but with the warm feeling that the other one existed, somewhere far away but close at the same time. 

So many years, and every time she spotted him in the distance, backpack resting on his shoulder and that peculiar expression on his face, everything around lost its sharpness only to concentrate on them. She had spent her whole life trying to decipher what love was. If it was worth all the suffering, pain and  selfishness that usually surrounded it. She used to run away from him, because she didn't understand what they had and accept it the way it was. It didn't fit with the concept of relationship she had been raised with, with all the compromise and empty promises about exclusivity and staying together forever. The only description of it killed instantly the idea of love. But loving differently was wrong and the desire of living life the way she wanted to, seemed to be even wronger. Selfish.

And then she knew. She realised. Whatever she thought love was didn't matter at all. She had had it all the time, there, in the mere action of not wanting him to change to stay with her and have a relationship the way it was supposed to be. In being able to appreciate those moments, the ability of caring and loving him just the way he was. And getting the same thing in return.

That was love. That existed. 

And there, her face resting comfortably on the curve of his neck after having sex, talking all night long, was the meaning itself of being in love. 

Free. Alive. Together. 

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