I feel old

-

"I feel old."

"You’re just tired, Patty…"

For over three months he had been repeatedly saying she was ‘just’ tired, as if a good night of sleep could improve the state of her health. It was a lie. A reassuring lie. They both knew it.

"No. I feel… old," she said again lying in bed, her hands accentuating her words.

And Thomas almost smiled.

"You know, my love", he replied while brushing locks of hair from her sweaty forehead, “the first time I stared at you, really stared at you, your eyes captivated me."

Those eyes frowned slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"Their deep hazel color, and… I know it will sound odd, but", evaluating the most truthful words to express his idea, he paused, “I could read dozens of lives in them."

"For a Cartesian mind like yours, it is indeed surprising…" Martha whispered in a giggle.

"In some cultures and civilizations, it is indeed plausible," the lawyer retorted with amusement. “It is just…Your eyes gave me the sensation that they have seen so much, as if there was an old, yet strong soul behind them. One which had lived centuries, through both tragedies and happiness, and had learned just how precious and fragile life is. I couldn’t help it… I saw dozens of lives in this hazel ocean," he concluded.

During his explanation, Thomas’s lean body bent over hers instinctively, without his noticing it, and allowing her thin fingers to caress his lips.

"Then I hope… that I spent all those lives with you," she murmured.

"Of course. That is what soulmates do."

"Soulmates," Martha repeated, a tint of joy in her voice, “Did you re-read Plato recently?"

"You offended me. I know his words by heart."

Softly, her blue-tinged lips curled up.

"So, Tom… if we went through dozens of lives together…what about the next one?"

At her words, a cloud obscured his gaze. She was dying. His knowledge of medicine and science didn’t allow him the illusion of hope, but there was still the vast distance between knowing and accepting the truth.

"It will… be perfect", he confessed, his right hand cupping her face, the other lost in her auburn hair, “Perfect. Made just for us."

"Tell me more about it…"

The room was suddenly stultifying. His eyes glanced upwards and he bit his bottom lip, trying to find help or support from above, but he felt nothing, just her warm and frail breath upon his neck. He looked back down at his dear fallen angel.

"We… we will meet in childhood", he started. “Acquaintances at first, then friends, and finally lovers. My words, my soul, my heart will be filled only by you. After years of courtship and love, we will get married on a sunny day in July. We won’t be rich, neither will we live in poverty", he continued, the words uncontrollably trembling, “We will possess only what we need: a little house, a little garden, books and music, away from the noise of cities, and politics and war. Even perhaps on the top of a little mountain…" His face lit up at this thought and she grinned at his joy. “And we will have children: three girls. Of course three girls… and perhaps a boy. They all will be beautiful and strong. The best part of both of us. The house will never be silent…" He stopped himself, fighting tears in his eyes -a fight he’d begun to lose weeks ago. “We… we will watch them grow up into wise and brilliant adults. Oh, you will be so proud! Our children. And… our… grand-children…” Sobs cut his words, “and… we will turn slowly grey… and white together…"

"… and?" her voice beneath him whispered.

"… and, wearied by the years, our wrinkled hands will cling to each other, waiting for death fearlessly, because…" Warm drops fell on her peaceful face, "… because, my love, we know we will soon be together again."

Martha’s fingers wiped away his tears, her Thomas’ forehead resting now against hers.

"Oh Tom…" she sighed with a smile, "…I can’t wait."

-
-