The Cycle

Written on March 26, 2012 – edited on November 22, 2020

He is immune to her steps. He lives in his own universe in his head, only thinking about his friends and video games. He walks down the street with headphones on the higher volume, and while everyone can listen to music loudly playing close to his ears on the bus, they can’t actually say which is it. She is there, sitting about three seats behind, listening quietly to her own breath, seeking the courage to talk to him. But when she finally found it, she no longer sees him: he’s already got off the bus.

There is a sign at the school gate with a heart drawn in it in her favorite red color tone, which he passes by and doesn’t see it. She chases after him, but she stops, incredulous. She did everything, but could not be seen. Well, they did say children were cruel, but they never mentioned the neglect of pure and first love feelings was the most hurtful. Momentarily untimely…but necessary. Afternoons, weeks, autumns, winters pass by. The pulse still gives the involuntary signals from the heart, but there is no response.

Photo by Dima Valkov on Pexels.com

No longer a girl, now a woman, she walks down the street, on top of high heel shoes. She grew up, without the boy who chose football, in the earliest years of his life, without even considering there were other passions to live. She never saw him again, nor does she think she will. Behold, she feels an awkward kick in her belly, calls someone over the phone and makes her way to the maternity. A boy is born within her beautiful family. Mommy is proud and so is the dad. Six years later she sees something intriguing and suddenly remembers it. She can feel the vein pulsing again when she observes the efforts of her son, who cannot stop pranking that little girl to catch her attention, but she only has eyes for her doll.

But she knows, and so does he, that the world spins. Hope, without reason, in a world without rules and compassion, one day explains everything that goes on. And everything will be fine, invariably.

Published by flaviastamato

Publicist and writer, a citizen of the world trying to free herself from writing cliches (but it's so tempting....)

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