Fading Echoes of Us

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"..I want you to be eternal... not like the sun or the moon, but like the chaos that was born with us and will never end... but if you become chaos, then who will I be?.."

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Every day you fight demons, and even if you don't want to acknowledge it, you lose... You cannot win... but you don't give up. You, who have lost count of time in the calendar of ages, often interweaving pages from your youth with those of the present. And you can do nothing else but cry silently, in your moments of solitude.

Cut a carrot, and forget your glorious past where you felt like a bird freely frolicking under the open sky of possibilities. Cut the pepper and drive away dreams of having that happy ending, where you and he grow old and die holding hands, looking at each other. Cut the onion, and drown your memories in the river of oblivion, memories without which you feel you could no longer go on. He was your sun that rose every day, your source of warmth, your source of light, and you were dependent on all these. So was he, but that has changed. Cut the parsley and ignore the scent of fresh green invading your brain, creating memories of when everything was okay and you went for picnics in the flower garden. He often wouldn't let you carry the basket with food prepared to the smallest detail and he let you smell the flowers while he spread the blanket on the ground. Then he'd come back to you and tell you how beautiful you were, and you'd blush because you never saw yourself that way... you underestimated yourself, but he put you on such a high pedestal that you were afraid to look down and felt victorious. He was yours and you were his. What could be more perfect than that?

Finish the soup and forget to have hope, but you can't because, in the end, only hope keeps you alive. The hope that everything is just a nightmare and you eagerly await to wake up and turn to the other side of the bed and see him sleeping so beautifully and see his smile and, half-asleep, pull you closer to him, and softly tell you that you need to sleep, to rest, and that he is always here and loves you. And you close your eyes hoping that everything will be like before and when you open them you see him sitting down at the table and you quickly run to set the table, with a forced smile. The same words you say... the same empty words just to feed his grandiose ego. And he is happy. You find a bowl for yourself, pour some soup into it, and sit at the table with him. You watch him eating, noticing every expression and realizing that the husband you thought you knew like the back of your hand is actually a stranger. His face hides an untold story, indecipherable to you. In his eyes, you read a deaf indifference that pierces your soul, and this meal becomes another routine, another act in a play that no one wants to come and see. You are two actors, one dramatic, and one monstrous.

Every spoonful he lifts to his mouth is just an echo of the silence between you. You manage to gather all your strength, all the courage you have left, and utter usual words, words that no longer make sense to you, but you keep saying them because they are part of your role, and although you are an amateur, you know you have to see it through to the end.

He, with a smile devoid of empathy, continues his meal without showing any sign of gratitude or affection, and as soon as he tastes the soup, his expression subtly changes, and you force your entire being to decipher whether it is a sign of satisfaction or disgust, a sign of love or rejection... And you wait... The pain and disappointment are heavy chains dragging you down, into a lightless abyss.

Although he finishes eating, he doesn't manage to say anything to you, not even a thank you! And then you feel the wave of tears that want to flood your face but can't anymore... you've dried up your river of tears and you wonder if all this makes any sense... if you can continue, and suddenly you turn your gaze towards a photograph in the bookcase over which time has only laid dust... In the photo, you had the smile of pure happiness while he looked at you with so much love, and you wonder why it came to this. But your thoughts stop when he gets up from the table and leaves, and you are left with only dirty dishes, full of unspoken questions. You get up and start cleaning again, feeling lost in your own universe. You can only see his eyes that have become two stones of ice, cold, lifeless, in the background you hear only the monotonous ticking of the clock, counting the lost seconds of your existence...

And yet you have hope... Hope that illuminates even your deepest nightmares... The hope that he might change... for your sake, for the sake of memories... but the reality is different. You know that with each passing day, hope melts away like a candle left in the wind, its flame becoming weaker and weaker.

And days pass, and the routine becomes more and more painful... a testimony to the growing distance between you... You wake up as if in a sad, tiring dance, one in which you were once happy, and all you could do was enjoy each other! Now are mechanical movements devoid of meaning... devoid of any significance.

And everything changes! One day, you decide to take advantage of this hope of yours that even the deepest nightmare hasn't taken away, that you don't leave behind because you want that love again that you once enjoyed. And you start to get ready... You look in the mirror at that face that once radiated happiness and all you see now is just pain... but you don't let things stay that way... A little foundation to hide the deeply etched tear marks on your aged skin... A little eyeshadow to bring a splash of color to your monochrome life. A little lipstick, not too bold but enough to make you feel like a woman. You let your black hair flow over your shoulders and you feel different... You usually keep your hair tied back in a ponytail because you don't have time to do anything else... and the hair just gets in the way... But now you let it flow softly over your shoulders and you remember how he used to run his hand through it and caress you... and you felt loved... And you look at yourself in the mirror again... and you feel like a different person... and hope is there and growing... You decide to wear your good dress, unworn for years, the one in which you fell in love with him. The white dress with red polka dots wove a matchless destiny when he saw you and came to you to ask you to dance and you smiled and accepted... The dance continued and you ended up getting married and the white dress with red polka dots was replaced by the wedding dress... And the wedding dress was replaced by the worn clothes you wear now...

You decide to wear it because it's a new beginning. You can't give up so easily on this... you can't destroy the years in which you believed you had built something... and you are silent and smile and dress up... step by step for a perfect evening... He is not at home but you are just at home and you want it to be different... and you put on the apron you have from your mother, the one full of stains but you don't want to change it because it's all you have left of her. And you set the table so happily that maybe now is the time for everything to change... And you have hope...

The festive meal begins to take shape when he comes home, passing by you, as if you were two strangers walking on some street, some moment... nothing emotional that could bind you... but you have hope and a little awkwardly you start a sentence but it is cut short as if you don't have the right to speak. all you have is the right to silence. He sits down at the table, and he doesn't even notice how beautiful you are... not even how the table was arranged, like an invitation to new beginnings... The atmosphere becomes palpable: an exchange of glances and he starts to criticize you for the way you dressed and you feel as if thousands of swords are piercing your soul numbed by pain, the one you tried to drive away with hope... But you smile and start reminding him of the times when you went out and he, gallantly, pulled out the chair for you to sit as comfortably as possible. You remind him of how smiles were not missing from the menu and neither were the sweet glances thrown across the table... He starts to tremble and tells you to stop but you continue, talking to him about dreams, hopes, and memories of two people who seem to no longer exist. The tension rises and you feel it... but you don't want to stop because it's all you have left... and you try until you realize it's too late.

A wrong word, a glance too many, and hope dies. He gets up abruptly and you don't see the continuation... you feel it... His words are drowned in the screams of fury because you didn't stop...

A gesture, a moment of inattention, and you feel how every memory drains out of you... You don't feel his hand caressing your heart... but the blade of the knife he has in his hand...

The white dress with red polka dots becomes the silent witness of your hope only now the white is stained with blood that won't stop flowing and you collapse... You feel the cold floor...

The white dress with red polka dots becomes the silent witness of your hope, only now the white is stained with blood that doesn't stop flowing and you collapse... The sharp and burning pain rips through your chest so intensely that it seems to far exceed the pain he caused you... Time seems to have stopped, allowing you to acutely realize the harsh reality. But at a certain moment, you no longer feel pain but a void, as if all the memories, all the dreams, all the hopes are ending just like the continuously flowing blood. You feel abandoned in an ocean of pain and strangely, you don't feel uncomfortable. You feel like yourself, the one from the last few years, and it's comfortable because you are already accustomed to it. Your mind tries to cling to a fragment of reality, trying to understand how his love turned into rage, how hope was enveloped by a knife's blade. Your world becomes harsh... fundamental sensations: the hard cold of the floor beneath you, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth, the sound of your breathing becoming labored and heavy. And you fight as you have done all your life. And for a moment, you begin to review your life: all the dances in the rain, all the nightmares you had, all the moments when you laughed heartily and evil disappeared from the world... all the moments when he was next to you... that him you were madly in love with, not this monster. But you turn your gaze with your last strength and see him, scared, crying, screaming, falling to his knees, begging you not to die...

A wave of sadness overwhelms you and it's not just the physical pain of the wound tearing your body... it's the pain of betrayal and loss. But he comes and caresses your now pale cheeks... and you smile because hope has not died... With your last strength, you whisper something to him and the last thing you can feel is a profound detachment, as if your soul is rising above your tormented body, becoming a mere spectator of a cheap play. You stay until the end and find a fragment of peace, a last refuge before you get lost in infinity: a him full of regret.

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"Maybe in another life... we were happy until the end. Hope dies last, doesn't it?"

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