English Version

The following text is an excerpt from the month of May in the text. 

 

 

My grandfather told me the strangest story.

It was night-time, luminous stars of burning white, so far away, dotted the sky. Accidental specks of the cosmic paintbrush, scattered around with infinite order.

 Under the black mystic umbrella of the sky, two lovers were walking silently. Not staring at each other, as you might imagine. No, instead, they were looking ahead, staring blankly at the black abyss that was in front of them and all around them.

The lovers did not touch, not even for gesture. The air was warm and although thick and bathing them in a heated blanket, it was also refreshing.

They moved slowly, taking baby steps, cautious steps, as if, in slow motion. They moved independently of each other, not in unison, not communicating or acknowledging the other.

“Where were they going?”

They were stars. Fallen stars, my grandfather said.

No sound, no sound at all. No waves, no breeze, no sound of trees, no birds, no air, just the couple and the dark abyss, walking, walking nowhere.

The woman was wearing silk, elegant. A nightgown of silver, she glistened in the dark. The man wore white shorts, his top was bare skinned and exposed. Transfixed, without even a glance, they continued forward.

In the distance a noise began to make itself heard. Soft at first, but powerful and strong. Although far away, the sound grew closer, moving closer and closer toward to the lovers. Closing in on them, following them. The ground beneath them began to rumble as the sound got nearer. 

The lovers looked up together at the sky. The stars, numerous and bright were getting bigger. Brighter and bigger. Without looking at each other, they grabbed each other’s hand and began to look around them. The sounds, the terrible sound was coming from everywhere.  Something bad was happening.

The yellow fighting with the darkness, was beginning to win. As the stars got bigger and bigger, the lovers faces changed from wonder, awe and confusion to horror, utter horror. The stars were not getting bigger, they were falling. Falling from the sky, so very fast.

Louder and louder the sound grew, the ground shook with more and more power and the sky got brighter and brighter. The lovers finally, knowing they would not survive this, held each other desperately squeezing each other for life.

“Why had they not done so earlier?”

They only now knew their fate. Death. Death is a cloud of burning light. Death is a deafening noise. Death is the final moment to look into each other’s eyes. Death is a star, as a star finally falls upon them. 

My grandfather told me, never to be a fallen star. Seize each opportunity and live without regret. When you find the right star, grab it, grab it fast, because it takes two stars to make lovers, but one, just one to kill it all. 

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