Some day, when I'm awfully low
and the world is cold
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
- The way you look tonight, by Dorothy Fields
I leave the house at almost two in the afternoon as though I were rushing out at a much earlier hour, say nine thirty or nine or eight thirty in the morning (or worst), yet unaware of the hope already alerting me that we were finding ourselves again in a happy coincidence. I hear your voice saying hello behind my back as I pull the door closed. I smile. I know you're smiling behind me too. I inadvertently walk towards you with such ill-repressed enthusiasm that I bump into you. I laugh next to your ear acknowledging it, and I'm sure that you're heart is as grateful as mine. You smile and look at me, once the hugging is over, and I bet you're thinking that I rush out of my house as people normally do at a much earlier hour, say six thirty or seven or seven thirty in the morning, with my hair all undone and in whichever cleanish clothes I managed to find, and though you could find a dissapproving sentence or two for that, you just look at me and smile, and remember I am anything but normal.
¿Muy frágil? ¿Qué es muy frágil para ti? you asked, last time we'd met. At first I thought it was a metaphorical question, so I just looked down and played with your shirt and remained quiet. You asked me again, you insisted, you wanted to know what it is I consider fragile. I finally understood, and told you what I keep in that box.
(It's good to see you laugh, you'd said that other time, too, even though you didn't quite understand what I was laughing at).