The fire of my loins

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Anonymous reader: would you stop by  and make me company for just a little while? Look: I can’t help hearing a voice inside me, that is talking to her all the time, pushing its way through my thoughts to make itself spoken. It’s a calm, tempered voice that wants to appease my mind without troubling others’; but it’s also a stubborn one, and I’m afraid I won’t fully achieve any inner peace until I get rid of it. Would you please bo so kind? Just listen by me to what this voice has to say. Who knows?, maybe some day you can tell her…
Oh, she! It is so long since we last talked! In a sense, we didn’t talked again ever since the distant time when we first met and, drinking wine in her balcony, said to each other, in just one evening, everything two souls must know for the love to start shining. That was it. But even though, often since then, our voices didn’t understand each other, our minds always kept that surprising connection. During our love, it was not through the speech, but the silence, how we got the best of ourselves. I like to believe that, hadn’t I wronged her, we could have spent our whole lives together in silence, and be happy. But I did. Early in our relationship I hurt her; not one, but several times; and those wrongs took away many of her feelings for me were, stole my credit from her heart, and indebted me with her forever. Forever.
For having turned her my back one day in some old town, upon the swarthy cobblestones, and had her helplessly weeping on the wharf steps, I am in debt. For purposely having left her behind where she couldn’t reach me, thus ruining all her blessed, innocent joy of a beautiful sunny day, I am in debt. For having made her feel lost, alone and defenseless among the crowd, utterly sorrow, disconsolate, such fateful day in such foreign town, I am in debt. The recollection of those moments shrinks my heart, makes me despise myself and fills me with sadness and remorse. It is no excuse that she was partially responsible for my behaviour, because love is supposed to do much better than what I did. Perhaps I aimed the right goals, but I chose the wrong ways. So, for all those misdeeds of mine, would you reader, whenever you find her, please tell her that I am sorry? And, yet, even if she forgives me, I won‘t ever forgive myself. Though I have atoned my sins with the severest penalty, to lose her, I’ll always feel in debt with her.
I was so lost! I became overemotional and obsessed, though… how could I not be? Have you ever truly idolized a person? I blindly stolled her! Simply, I was overwhelmed and wrecked by a passion that was too strong! My dear own Lolita… Oh!, how was she, you’d like to know? Let me tell you and drag you along to another dimension of our species…
There was that freshness and naïveté about her. There was that shocking sexual discordance between incontinence and chastity; that almost bewildering blend of childish innocence and unrestrained lechery. There was that sleeping, little young pervert, that subtle but persistent incite to lust which promised to any beholder a world of scrumptious pleasures. I was enthralled! Whenever I contemplated her features or got lost in the azur of her eyes; whenever I made love to her or saw her voluptuously naked, I beheld all the comeliness that I could desire in life embodied in a single being, and forever more I knew, with shocking certitude, that she was the One. How couldn’t I have regarded her with deaf devotion?

And there was also that hypnotizing natural originality about her demeanour, that appealing lack of inhibitions about her habits, that sparkling spontaneity which would burst in laughter and gaiety; there was that modest talent, that restrained intelligence and that captivating uncontrollable fantasy; there was that poignant helplessness in her tribulations, that touching empathy for sorrow, that primitive sensitivity for beauty, that keen intuition which so well read my mind… And all those wonders ended up subjugating my dozing heart and completely enslaving me to her. I was spellbound with her mermaid chants about horny moods!, and the sole idea of enjoying every minute of the day with her, every square inch of her skin, every fold of her flesh, every instant of her mind, every one of her smiles and words, this idea was so strong, so appealing and exciting, that I was terrified at the thought of yielding her, of losing her. She was my discovery, but I knew that her dangerous charms would make the same impression on others, and that she would soon become coveted, because if there is an exceptional and unprecedented human being, that is her! Was I going to be the only man with eyes onto his face?, the only one with a perception for what is authentic, beauty, outstanding and unimaginable? Of course not. I feared that some natural promiscuous impulses in her, an understandable drive for meeting new people or having new lovers and experiences, would be stronger than her infirm love for me. I was scared! I became jealous. Demolished by my passion for her and misguided by my blind love, I started demanding rationality and coherence from her, but… were rationality and coherence what kindled such a maddening fervor in me? Certainly not…
Well, do you really need to hear the end, anonymous reader? You can easily imagine it. Please, spare me to remember.
Oh!, of course I’m still far from ceasing to love her. Time ago I openly bestowed all my love onto her, allegedly and without restrictions, and I haven’t withdrawn it so far. I still adore her with the core of my loins; I’m still lost without her, and sorrowful; I still wake up in the morning with her name on my lips, and fall asleep at night with her image on my eyelids. But, though the bonfire of passion may never again burn within me with the same ardor, I hope to someday arise anew to life from the old ashes.
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