Partir?

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How to leave the city? Setting aside the why (perhaps one day?) how is the question. Maybe the correct answer is: we don’t, ever, we may be elsewhere, but our minds and hearts stay here. Maybe we’ll reminisce, as Frederick writing to Voltaire, much, much later (in fact many wars and forty years later) about Rheinsberg: I had the happiest years of my life there… It is impossible to forget anything: the tree-lined streets, deserted on Sundays, the granit monuments that remind us of the terrible events, the canals, the lakes, the sand, the Spätis opened all night, the parks, the crows… The little markets, the narrow lanes, a city from where one can travel, on an old bike, away from traffic, and lose oneself in deep forests…

We will long for the museums, the concerts, the sheer grandeur of those avenues, history always present, without fuss, without pretense. In many ways we won’t leave, even if, three months from now, there will not remain more than a shadow of our presence here, perhaps a stolen bike in some flee-market.

#FiveSentenceFiction: Departure

tearsWe stand on the platform, both silent.

You’re taller than me now, and I would have difficulty in carrying that heavy rucksack, you’re stronger too…

Yet, you are still fragile, I know, and I wish I could communicate, no, better, transfer to you my inner strength.

You smile, we kiss, you stand tall, a young woman walks past, looking at you, your train arrives, we shake hands: farewell my son.

There is no tears as those of a soldier.

#FiveSentenceFiction: September 7 – Memories

 The summer was coming to an end, and she dreaded the return to her “normal” life: how could she give up what mattered to her more than anything in the world?

Yet she knew the secret to keep him, to continue to be the one he had wanted her to be, she must obey by the rules, respect his freedom, be there for him when he wanted her, ready, the creature he had made of her, the whole of her, her past, her present, their present, just for him.

She packed slowly, her old clothes, and the new ones, what he had got for her, the lingerie, her collar, the high heels shoes in beautiful leather, and the bits of their shared life she had kept in secret: the bottle they had drank from, there, at the top, on the cliff where she had become his, for ever.

She could hear his steps in the now empty house, he was coming to her, to say good-bye, she started crying, silent tears running down her face.

She had closed her eyes, waiting for the blow, for his departure, but he was still there, next to her, a hand on her shoulder: “I have changed my mind” he said in his calm voice, “I am taking you with me, and, by the way, I will not ever let you go far away from me”, and he kissed her, full mouth, ignoring her tears, lifting her from the ground, a tall young god.