We were lying naked on the bed, sheets still warm. His body was slightly apart from mine, as he always did after sex, and he had been gazing at the ceiling for some time, lost in his thoughts.
-You know, I’ve always heard that you can almost read a mountain’s story -he said- that it’s somehow etched in each one of its rocks. Centuries of rain and snow, of the tiniest movements shifting whole mountains by sheer patience. But what will happen with our story when it ends? When you wake up one day in someone else’s bed, or when life drags us apart and I end up doing who knows what in just the opposite edge of the world. What will everything add up to then?
I looked at him and reflected for a few moments. I had never seen him talking like that.
-Maybe our athoms will remember -I answered-. Maybe not only after our story ends, but even after we’re dead, and we turn to bones and dust, and our dust becomes part of a rock in the middle of a mountain. Maybe they’ll remember that they were once part of that curve of your jaw that I couldn’t stop caressing, or that they once healed my lips after you bit me so hard that you made them bleed.
As if he was suddenly embarrassed by the conversation, he changed the subject and started talking about an old black and white movie he had just watched. His body, however, was now resting on mine.
-You know, I’ve always heard that you can almost read a mountain’s story -he said- that it’s somehow etched in each one of its rocks. Centuries of rain and snow, of the tiniest movements shifting whole mountains by sheer patience. But what will happen with our story when it ends? When you wake up one day in someone else’s bed, or when life drags us apart and I end up doing who knows what in just the opposite edge of the world. What will everything add up to then?
I looked at him and reflected for a few moments. I had never seen him talking like that.
-Maybe our athoms will remember -I answered-. Maybe not only after our story ends, but even after we’re dead, and we turn to bones and dust, and our dust becomes part of a rock in the middle of a mountain. Maybe they’ll remember that they were once part of that curve of your jaw that I couldn’t stop caressing, or that they once healed my lips after you bit me so hard that you made them bleed.
As if he was suddenly embarrassed by the conversation, he changed the subject and started talking about an old black and white movie he had just watched. His body, however, was now resting on mine.
