From a balcony in Lisbon, I saw you. A phone charger with laughs and giggles. The majesty you inspire is the gospel. The holy trinity of beauty and allure. A smile that could light a thousand rooms.
It wasn’t because I knew then that youth had escaped me. It was the energy of the wild young hearts. They were running free whilst I was snared. I’m not trapped. That is the feeling one gets when one endeavours to voyeur the lives of others.
I am not the mother of the four, but a sister. My age is but a number, but my feelings are young. They are but tiny embers before the inferno of emotion.
No, I won’t forget you. I won’t mourn you. My youth is not lost, for it has only just begun. This is the sound of a starting pistol. I won’t be launched into the mid-life by a trebuchet of regret. I will smell the wood burning. The night is young.
The dawn arrives. I am reborn. All jealousy is forgotten. Hope is endemic. They say the rain will fall in Lisboa. We cannot curse that which has fallen from the sky. It is a blessing. I say your love fell from the sky. It is only a deity that can deliver such a perfect union.
You’re not here. You’re somewhere else. I am here amongst three drooling women looking footloose and fancy-free on the streets. I am a dusty relic. The winds of Lisboa and change are blowing the dust off me. Words of encouragement flood my ears. I could meet a thousand people. I could have a thousand flirtations, but it is you. You occupy my heart.
The fishbone floor. The sound of the street below. A roaming Boheme. Happiness floods my heart. I patiently wait. I jot down notes in my mind. I know what will bring joy to today. That is how my day starts. The knowing of where joy shall come from.
So, with a smile, I stand once again on the balcony. I face the adjacent terrace with courage. Yes. You are young and free, but do you know where your next hit of joy will come from?
I would smoke a million cigarettes just to be on that balcony. To see your joy. To watch you splash the scent of tangerine on your face. To watch you fluff your hair. To see you wave at me again. To have you remind me that I am alive.
This encounter was fleeting. We are but two ships sailing in the night. We are deliverers of precious cargo to one another. The gift of life. The insurance of authentic smiles.
Thank you for your letter. Precious stranger.
This is mine.
The Wordsmith 