I dreamt about you last night.
You and I, facing each other, standing on a ledge.
On a cliff.
You and I, cloaked in the thick, dull mist that rose out of the waters below.
Others watching from afar would have hardly seen two silhouettes, nothing more.
It was one of of those rare moonless nights.
“Are you cold?” The rich timbre of your voice startled me.
My heart gave a little jump.
“Are we in Barcelona?”
“What?”
“Barcelona,” I repeated, “Catalonia. Espanya.”
“Have you been to Barcelona?”
“Uh, sure,” I replied, “long time ago, my parents took to me to a tourist deck on top of a hill to watch birds fly.”
“Oh.”
“So are we in Barcelona?”
“Hey…” I felt you move a little closer to me, raised your right hand.
I gasped. I’m getting slapped!
But you rested your hand on my top of my head, softly.
Oh I get it, I thought, you want to run your fingers through my hair like in a 90s shampoo commercial.
I moved a little closer to you.
You then began taking the wisp of locks from my forehead, gently, stroking downwards.
I closed my eyes, smiled. Satisfied.
“Ow, ow, ouch!” My short, sharp cry echoed in the darkness.
Halfway through, your fingers got stuck.
“Oh God, sor-sor-ry,” you said, panting, “I-I can’t seem to untangle my fingers from your he-hair.”
We both wrestled for a couple of minutes to set your fingers free.
Until we succeeded, breathless.
“Sorry about that”, you muttered, cursed at yourself.
“No no no, not your fault at all!” I insisted, talking fast, “The truth is, I didn’t wash my hair for three days. Coz…after my root canal surgery I…had chills, so I was afraid to bathe, old beliefs and stuff.”
“Eww.”
“Duh, I’ll shower later, no big deal.” I looked away.
You let out an amused guffaw.
“I’m kidding,” you said, “I must say you even smell great, is that citrus?”
You sniffed playfully.
“Uh..uh..uhm” I was lost. I get nervous when scrutinized like that.
Your right hand took my left hand.
“Is that citrus?” you asked quietly, inching closer.
“Uh-huh.” Your warm hand was reassuring. “Citrus-powdery, my signature smell.”
I inched closer to you.
“Is that sandalwood?” I sniffed.
“You like it?”
“Smell of power.” I said.
“You like it?”
“I like it on you.” I replied, struggling to see your face in the dark.
“Hahaaaa!” Sniff. Sniff. “Citrus-powdery eh?”
I let out a ripple of giggles. Sniff Sniff. “Sandalwood!”
Sniff. Sniff. “Citrus-powdery, you say!”
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. “Sandalwooooood!”
“Please don’t dwell on my armpit.”
“Oh, oh, sorry.” I jumped back, cheeks burning. “It’s it’s shiz…I’m too short, it’s so dark here.”
“It’s okay.” Your voice was soft as your right hand reclaimed my left hand.
“What’s wrong?” You asked.
“Why are you tickling my left hand?” I shot back.
“What? Oh, I can tickle your right hand too.”
“Stop tickling my hand.”
“I like tickling your hand. It’s so soft hmmm.” You breathed deeply.
“If you don’t stop tickling my hand,” I warned.
“Hmmm?”
“I will tickle your…”
“You will tickle my?” You asked, curious.
“Tickle, tickle your…”
“Yes,my…”
“Left nipple.”
“What!”
You grabbed both my hands and pressed them on your chest.
“Can you feel my heart pounding?” You sounded urgent.
“Are we in Barcelona?” I fought back tears.
You sighed, let go of my hands. “Maybe.”
“Maybe, yes? Or maybe, no?” Tears were streaming down my cheeks.
“I don’t know.”
I sobbed silently.
“Thought it’s me you’re looking for.” Hurt in your voice.
“Believe me, it’s you I’m looking for!” My voice cracked. “And now you are here, yay!”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“So…”
“Huh?”
“Okay.” You cleared your throat. “So I’m supposed to take you to an orphanage or some sort of an institution of similar nature?” You asked matter-of-factly.
“Something like that. This place is actually called the Cemetery of Forgotten Books.” I offered, feeling a new sense of hope.
“Oh, a cemetery”, you uttered flatly, “of books… as in I turn the pages of these books…books?”
“Yes!”
“Ah.”
“You got it!” I shrieked grabbing both your cheeks, “Can I kiss you?”
“You are very excitable! No.”
“Sorry.” I let go of your face.
“So I assume these books are dead because they’re in a uh cemetery,” you said.
“Oh, pffft,” I answered, waving my hand, “Books never die. Believe me when I say that. I guess they, I don’t know who’s they, called it the cemetery because of the dreadfulness of the place, maybe. Imagine these books have been abandoned, somebody once loved them then gave up on them, then they were dumped there, forgotten…forever.”
“Wow.”
I felt different. It’s really you.
“Uh, what’s my role here again?” you asked.
“Take me there.” I said.
“Oh hey…haha…breaking news…do I look like a GPS?”
Again, I struggled to see some of your features, but the night has blackened even more.
I shrugged, “Truth is, I can find the place without you.”
“There you go!” You made one giant clap.
“That’s my greatest fear.”
“Strange…you are,” I heard you say, “What’s your name again?”
“We’re adopting books, two or three, what do you prefer?… You and I.” I said.
“Haha.”
“What, you’ve never heard of people adopting pets?” I challenged.
“That’s what normal people do, adopt pets.”
“We’re not–”
“Normal?”
“Slightly different.” It was my turn to clear my throat.
I shut both my eyes, willing away the doubt that has slowly crept in my heart.
So you’re not the one. I rushed. My mistake.
Just then you leaned forward and gently rested your forehead on my forehead, noses, lips, chins softly touching.
I couldn’t help it, I needed to know you still.
I inched higher and traced your features with my face, for what seemed like a long, long time.
We didn’t even notice the first burst of dawn…
“You feel familiar,” I whispered, “What’s your name again?”
Last night I dreamt about you.
Shadows and Sketches By Apples Jalandoni
P.S. The Cemetery of Forgotten Books is a famous landmark from the best selling books of one of my favorite authors, Carlos Ruiz Zafón. This place is supposed to be fictional. Or so we’re made to believe. Heehee. I was in Barcelona not too long ago, nobody was really helpful. And so this magical library remains a mystery to me.
P.P.S. I spent February 14th at the E.R. I didn’t even realize it was Valentine’s Day until the doctors, nurses and staff showered me with warm greetings and extra extra sweet TLC, imagine that! It almost made up for the excruciating wooziness and missing my flight.
There’s always a first time, I guess. Made me realize, time to make some changes for the better ;P
Also, as a P.P.P.S., I would like to share my favorite poem from an amazing human being, Fr. Pedro Arrupe, SJ.
Great thinkers conclude, we are broken souls in a broken world. (I’m trying very hard not to talk about Climate Change here).
So my wish is that Fr. Arrupe’s simple yet amazingly profound message will fill us, nourish us, to seek and ultimately meet our destinies.
It’s true, we begin and end with love.
Cheers!
Nothing is more practical than finding God,
than falling in Love in a quite absolute, final way.
What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything.
It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read, whom you know, what breaks your heart,
and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in Love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.