As his arms softened around her belly button, Maria had a deep urge to disappear. She was a prostitute; her breasts were hardened by constant violence it endured from its clients, her pubis was infected, her lips grimaced in pain every time she asked it to kiss someone. And yet, this man was tender towards her. 'She didn't deserve it' she thought.
"Maria, what is it that you think about?" he asked.
"I'm thoughtless." she lied.
"Your face looks like Lake Kinneret in moonlit nights - blank.. white.." he said.
Maria smiled. She loved this man. He had slept under the moon and traveled to Eastern lands. He was a traveler, a dreamer - she found it to be a sensual combination. But she couldn't beg him to stay, could she?
His hands pulled at her skirt allowing her rotting vulva feel the coldness of his winter lips - his long beard stroked her thighs, his hair flowed peacefully along the slopes of her stomach. Maria was afraid, she felt she could no longer tame the wild beatings of her shallow heart. She wanted him, she couldn't live without, he was her messiah.
She gathered courage and asked, "Will you go away again?"
"To India?"
"To anywhere?" she frowned.
"I do not know Maria. I do not know what tomorrows might bring. I have learnt to live in todays for now" he smiled.
"You look peaceful" she mused. "I don't like it. Are you becoming a nihilist?"
"A Buddhist!" he replied.
"What is that?" she was visibly in distaste.
"Someone who believes that we create the world through our thoughts, that we make our meanings out of nothing."
"Equally Nihilistic!" she grimaced.
"No. More beautiful. More lively." he smiled.
'Beautiful Nihilism!' she thought. He settled himself under her hairy armpit where her sweat seemed to him like dew drops on cold grass. She knew he would fall asleep soon. All his life he searched for something to keep him alive and now he has found a reason so worth living that he may die for it, she thought. She couldn't understand such commitment to an idea, she herself had barely started committing to a person.
"Are you sleepy?" she asked.
"I must say so."
"When will you come here again?"
"When blood cease to flow along the streets, when people respect each other, when there are no Gods and no Kings, I will come to you!" he replied.
"And if it is your blood that flows, what will I be left with?"
"My blood and an idea!" he said sleepily.
Maria watched him fall asleep, she didn't blink, she could feel breeze from the highest mountains of Greece slamming at her door and windows. She watched him all night, how deep he sleeps and the way his lips curl into smiles every now and then. He was a dreamer.
"Maria, what is it that you think about?" he asked.
"I'm thoughtless." she lied.
"Your face looks like Lake Kinneret in moonlit nights - blank.. white.." he said.
Maria smiled. She loved this man. He had slept under the moon and traveled to Eastern lands. He was a traveler, a dreamer - she found it to be a sensual combination. But she couldn't beg him to stay, could she?
His hands pulled at her skirt allowing her rotting vulva feel the coldness of his winter lips - his long beard stroked her thighs, his hair flowed peacefully along the slopes of her stomach. Maria was afraid, she felt she could no longer tame the wild beatings of her shallow heart. She wanted him, she couldn't live without, he was her messiah.
She gathered courage and asked, "Will you go away again?"
"To India?"
"To anywhere?" she frowned.
"I do not know Maria. I do not know what tomorrows might bring. I have learnt to live in todays for now" he smiled.
"You look peaceful" she mused. "I don't like it. Are you becoming a nihilist?"
"A Buddhist!" he replied.
"What is that?" she was visibly in distaste.
"Someone who believes that we create the world through our thoughts, that we make our meanings out of nothing."
"Equally Nihilistic!" she grimaced.
"No. More beautiful. More lively." he smiled.
'Beautiful Nihilism!' she thought. He settled himself under her hairy armpit where her sweat seemed to him like dew drops on cold grass. She knew he would fall asleep soon. All his life he searched for something to keep him alive and now he has found a reason so worth living that he may die for it, she thought. She couldn't understand such commitment to an idea, she herself had barely started committing to a person.
"Are you sleepy?" she asked.
"I must say so."
"When will you come here again?"
"When blood cease to flow along the streets, when people respect each other, when there are no Gods and no Kings, I will come to you!" he replied.
"And if it is your blood that flows, what will I be left with?"
"My blood and an idea!" he said sleepily.
Maria watched him fall asleep, she didn't blink, she could feel breeze from the highest mountains of Greece slamming at her door and windows. She watched him all night, how deep he sleeps and the way his lips curl into smiles every now and then. He was a dreamer.
***
Maria, as she walked by Kinneret, had only him in her mind. She could still smell his blood in her napkin, her hands were pressing on it as if it were his genitals - softly, cautiously. Contrary to what he imagined, the blood only flowed more and many regarded him as God himself. How indecorously the world handled our dreams, she thought.
A gentle wind was blowing and it brought silent waves in the lake. Maria sat motionless. She did look like Kinneret, she thought.
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