An old love story…
Once upon a time, people were not fucking and then starting to talk. Decades ago, you had to know her to enter inside.
Nowadays, you fall in love at the first date, and then you decide whether it was right or wrong. It takes a life to build a relationship and one second to waste it, not one second to build it and a life wasted.
Easy girls have always existed and will always exist but I want to get back to those times when he was staring at her for hours without her noticing. Discomfited, he was opening the conversation for the first time and got moist. It was such an effort that he didn’t want to do it often — you really had to select the ladies you were interested in.
A word after another, a letter after another, a smile after another and many doubts all along. The stress was present from the first time he caught sight of her until his last thought, few seconds ago. She was eventually interested but she didn’t want to show it, yet. First things first, she had to make sure he was the right one before going any step further. He sent many signals, stronger and stronger. Sex was out of their mind — romance, attention and caring was what they were both focused on.
The next step wasn’t to decide at which place they will have sex; no, it sincerely wasn’t. The next step was simply him and her walking hand in hand on the street deciding which flavours their ice cream will be composed of. The discussions were getting intimate, they shared some of their family stories, laughed and felt released of their former loveless cage. Back home, they replayed numerous times the day interrupted by worried parents asking why they seemed so far away in their thoughts. She was then telling her best friend about their now born relationship when on his side, he was finishing his letter by an hesitant “May I kiss you?”
When he met her again he panicked like he never did. He tremblingly handed over the paper to her and found himself genuinely embarrassed when she was about to finish it. She looked at him, got closer and…
What followed belongs to them, forever.
Lazhar Ichir
A man. A poet. A traveller. Passionate about the human kind, the world and the words, he finds himself connecting them all, or at least trying. Born in Paris, lived in London and travelling around the world, he is a man belonging to nowhere, to no one. Living in the terror of being understood, he does not travel alone, loneliness follows him.