LOELIA

It was raining finely and greenish, with a see-through fog submerged in the large drops. Bashful and heavy. An annoying rain, which is sending her always in other worlds, insisting to remind her only of the dissipated rumble of the once upon youth. She jerked slowly forwards, feeling something from the unwanted humidity. The right hand side show was rather catching it through a hole, making her desire only a shelter and a drop of brandy. With bitter-sweet nutmeat, there, in a small plate. The deserted street was tempting her and kept on calling her. Towards the big beautiful dream of the wasted life. She kept on pulling higher the winter coat and she increased the step, decided to reach somewhere. And then she saw the bar, strangely and quietly lighted, the consumer of destines late in life and outside it. She entered the thick purple smoke, round and pale, with a quiet unconsciousness of that who finds herself, in the end, the deliverance. She sniffed, received the blessing of the jazz and warmth in the soul. She was floating towards the darkest and best corner. And she was following her past destiny. And all that. And she remembered him. He had appeared in the rainiest day and had called her in his soul. She made her way and had delivered herself in him. A discomposure was howling like a jackal, a desire and a pain. She knew he was going to be hers. And he had told her to follow him. The pleasure had rose, set and dawned. The end had found her confused and sorrowful. Almost naked and consumed by this blue passion. And he had left unknown. Like a phantom among the willow. Because the weight of the inconstancy had swallowed her and had crushed her heart. About two winters and yet two more winters she had the wounded soul. And then, in the sunset, Loelia’s heart turned on devastated.