Waking-up from that dream in which she remembered Jupiter suffocating her with his love she started thinking about this one, in which there is no suffocation of any kind and everything seems to go perfectly fine. It was just another one of those days offering many paintings to live a dream in and take life from; teachings of life and performance, abstracted feelings and poetically seized moments of life. It wasn’t about noon yet when she decided to get out for a walk through the park and then, who knows, around there, where things were looking perfectly fine. “How could I have anything to eat now that I am such a useless piece of…” she stopped. The material she was about to mention to her own mind wouldn’t make her get better and wouldn’t have helped her get smarter either. Not under the circumstances. “I should be heading home soon. My stay here is not an option anymore. The sea is asking me to get myself back to where I need to be now.” “If you would have left when asked to, you would have stayed brilliant.” A pesky voice was continuously saying. “But where to go, she kept asking herself, and what to do? And why should I listen to what anyone says or wants me to do? What for? I felt tired of doing things for other people and not for myself, I guess. I wanted to start doing something for myself. Now what?” As the steps on the asphalt kept printing the pattern of the sole, so was the caressing caring breeze offering some nice treats to her hair; treats that would nourish the beauty of its glow making it more and more obvious. There was enough time for tea and some biscuits before getting back to the hotel for lunch so she entered a fancy looking cafe-lounge where she could nicely and quietly take some time to do what she wanted to do; write another page in her journal. “Another time, perhaps. Another time…” she began. “…I’ll be singing and dancing around; another time. Right now, in my somehow incomplete existential state of mind I prefer to have tea or coffee, some biscuits and write. Write ‘my novel’, as I like to call it sometimes this journal, and give myself a meaning; some purpose in this life. Is that so wrong? God?” she asked the piece of paper from which answers started flowing-up then floating around. “What do you want from me? Why do you cry, now? How can I help you, dear and why did you do this to your own…?” There was too much silence around so she raised her head to look around. No soul there to bother her writing or to observe her tea-time. No one but the waiter and a couple of students three tables away, having the same tea and biscuits, having the same type of journal chats she was sometimes using. “The nice couple three tables away, to the other corner of the place are having tea; my kind of tea and biscuits too. It’s a fine day, a very fine day for what I call: let’s dream! They have their lap-tops, I have my notebook and the pen; she has the sweetest smile for the nice ‘cup of coffee’ I was thinking about sharing and make known to the world. Nice glasses, both of them. He doesn’t like his biscuits so she offers them to her. A chivalrous gesture. I’d like to say that it warms my heart but right now it only makes my mind think that he might be a good friend to her; which is the best. When you have a good friend, you can get somewhere. When you don’t, you get… in trouble. I’m smiling now my words; they are cold enough for my cold smile. This place… is most wonderful for a day in paradise.”
- Another day in paradise, just another day in paradise… a boy was singing along as he entered, jumping around and swinging among the tables in the café.