The picture from the past

On this hot, salty and boring night, with the lapping of the waves in the background, a light breeze and an echo of motorbikes like a distant hum, the indecent and uselessly romantic moonlight is absurdly guilty of finding me alone, sitting on the floor on the cold tiles of the terrace of the one that was once my parents' house.

With my eyes burning and the cigarette doing the same between my fingers, regardless of the beauty that surrounds me, I browse without curiosity through the stories of acquaintances on Instagram and a familiar image suddenly catches my eye.

The photo portrays a young woman from behind, sitting on a low wall of an embankment with plants, one foot dangling, the other on the bench below. Bags to her right, Table Mountain in the distance.

The caption reads: “Zeitz MOCAA - Museum Of Contemporary African Art – Cape Town”.

I squint, I focus, I rub my right eye, I raise my eyebrows in amazement, and I open my eyes wide, I click on the photo, in disbelief, I zoom in with two fingers... but it's me!

How old is this photo!?

And with a leap of mind, I find myself there again, I look around at the people who come and go, or who wait for a time shorter than mine.

I've been sitting there waiting for him for a long time, more than an hour must have already passed!

I hope he comes out of the museum at any moment, he knows I'm there waiting for him.

We met for a moment that morning, I was arriving, he didn't see me, he was going, he got on the shuttle bus. He wrote to me: I wait for you, come; me: no, go ahead, then I'll meet you downtown, I'm busy. I saw that he was with that little brunette, but he didn't tell me.

We texted each other later; he... they, I don't know, were at the museum, I ran some errands, I bought some souvenirs at the Waterfront and as agreed I went out there to wait for him. Or waiting for them?

I will come out soon (singular), you told me.

I told you again that I was out there, but evidently you were in no hurry to come out and hug me again. Or you didn't want me to know her.

What is certain is that as time passed, my anxiety to look him into his eyes again turned into annoyance and the miracle happened. After months of unconditional, blind, crazy love, in that moment there was a click in my mind and, as if I were looking at myself from the outside, as if I were a stranger looking at a photograph, I saw the absurdity of that situation and I felt sorry for myself.

But do you really deserve to be here waiting for a person who clearly doesn't have the same desire to meet you as yourself, who, despite knowing that you've been out here for more than an hour, still leaves you waiting? So, I said to myself: you really don't deserve it, but have you seen yourself? Don't you have even a little bit of self-respect? And, finally free, with a new crack in my heart, I left.

I sent him a Whatsapp, saying I was busy and going away.

As soon as I get back, we'll have lunch together, you wrote to me. Yes, sure, yes, if I haven't already had lunch, in the meantime, ugh.

Just enough time to return and go to the buffet and he came back too (was he waiting for me to leave?)

You came back (plural), I saw you, you greeted her with a kiss, then you joined me, you greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, two old friends, and as always, we talked about everything and nothing, we were in a hurry, ready for other programs.

Better this way, so who knows when I'll see those nearby sea eyes again, go, go, otherwise they'll leave without you, but yes, I'll talk to you soon. Better this way, better, go, bye.

And since that museum it has never been the same.

I look back at the photo and I only see that stupid woman forever waiting.

A tear falls from the corner of the eye. I wipe it with my index finger holding the now extinguished cigarette.

I deluded myself for a long time that something could change, and when even the thought of you moved away from me, that's when I missed you even more, because you weren't there and not even the illusion of you was there by me.

There was a moment, even after, as when I met you, when I thought we were soulmates. It also often happened, it seemed to me, that we both were reading what the other might like, or what we knew for sure. Why did we do it? Maybe to get closer and be together even from far away? This thought moved me a lot and I then I was saying, secretly even to myself, who knows if one day we wouldn't allow ourselves to be really close and perhaps share a small space, where in each other's arms we could read our books, or why not, maybe the same one, with two hands clasped and the book and the heart opened in the other one hand left free of us.

They were foolishly romantic thoughts, what happened is that little by little we didn't see each other anymore. A message every now and then, the usual season’s greetings, which if I don't send them to you, you won't even notice it. No resentment, that's life, that's two lives that we have chosen to live separately, that's all. The light scent of a love that could have been different and didn't have enough courage to hold tight and never let go away again.

Enough, I close Instagram, turn off the phone, get up, throw away what's left of the cigarette... and then, since I don't know how to smoke, I don't have to buy them anymore.

Meow, yes, I'm coming, food, cuddles and sleep, my fur baby.

Goodnight, maybe, if I could sleep.