.
... is not so secret anymore!
Look at the note I received, half hidden in my drawer ...
not bear the name of Fernando. It is a name, a time now, I see and hear and smell beyond where to go. Everyone calls will be Fernando or Fernando or know someone Fernando.
You'll remember Fernando. Working and working as a doorman in my block, always attentive, always charming, always gorgeous. Always with an impeccably smooth hair loss. Always taking walks through the gate and never granted. Always own a captivating smile. Always aware of all the neighbors, and I, even more attention to him.
you remember that one summer, trying to begin a relationship that did not know anyone in the block. We agreed the two - do not you remember? - That the secrecy was the most desirable to avoid damage to the coexistence of the building as well as agree on the certainty that
-although the two we had a certain fondness for gossip-detested that we were the object of gossip.
I remember we had started between the eyes and admiration, I wonder if by the overwhelming beauty of his body or his good opinion on issues as varied as the languor of English films or character aloof from the 3 º C or and, of course, the solution of problems related to domestic infrastructure. In a clandestine meeting at a secret meeting went increasingly seeing ourselves apart from the encontradizos between 9 am and 7 pm, with the midday break between 2 and 5. Both
commitment to put me in disguise, innocently , was seeing with my friends both in public places in the city and in my own home. Of course, I saw Fernando sometimes get to my floor with one of those friends. He, so delicate, said nothing, but the coldness that also gradually, I was showing could be a sign of his disapproval of my friends. His own visits were spaced out until it reached zero. His coldness grew so then it became in outright indifference, or perhaps anger, which did nothing but hold my interest for him.
you remember, could
is Fernando. I remember still shudder to hear that name, which I go to work hours a quarter to nine instead of nine and that whenever I can, I to return to my chores street More than seven in the evening to spend not bad shot you do not know how to say hello. You can imagine I'm looking forward to seeing if I say something at noon, but you can imagine his disdain me and it confused c their interest on an assumption by another person. avoid their presence and seek his meeting. I see and I'm not willing to talk with him. I echo their judgments successful every time I meet other neighbors and remember their opinions about them ("Be careful: the 4 th A is very hypocritical," "Today is going to be noise in the 2 º A", "The of 1 C is a leg "or" H. "The owner of 4 º C" is the one who goes for that. ") Do I still like the words he chose and the male voice that conveys! You'll know me now or looking for a second or good or looks up because he is absorbed in his notes or-ah, his sweeping smile, oh, her figure proud, oh, their eyes rather than penetrating into the conversation a new neighbor to which hatred and reodio without limit.
I Thought That I Was over you / How I Was Mistaken / (...) / It Was More Than I can bear / When I saw you / Walking down the road with someone new, / I Could not Believe It Was True. / It Was true, yes. / I find it hard to sleep at night. / This jealousy is burning bright. / Visions of somebody else / Torments me to destruction. / I think of him / Making, making love to you. / It's More Than I can bear!
Whenever I ask whether they still know their neighbors. I ask myself what was the real reason for his rudeness when I came to love wish me well. I remember that once I dared to ask him, he replied that it was not worth talking about it with "Why?" that still leaves me cold blood. Always
I consider the phrases that I use to make you want to have a conversation with me, that conversation becomes an approach that "I can not deceive me more, is transformed into a visit to my apartment and when then more than a year ago. Or that's three?
Nobody knows this. Nobody should be. I would die of shame if others confirm your suspicions that I am crazy about the porter of the block as hopelessly stuck in the past, and anxious for him to follow in my footsteps and give me the same number of minutes and hours and days than before.
could argue that I always forget me once. Change your floor with what it cost me to furnish it and make it mine? Speak ill of the goalkeeper to the neighbors? "Look away every time I enter and leave through the portal? "Recognizing that this was a physical chemist magnetism without much significance?
When you have to name you, / I will do it without witnesses. (...)
After having lost, or never know if you have forgotten / left tenderness or bitterness. (...)
What I feel I know / just me and my heart.
Why will not block him? Why not return to me? Why keeps tell me what is life? And why I almost never talk about their customs, their problems and joys, their views on the neighbors, of how the scorecard?
Way thinking about going back slowly.
I always pose the rejection that I expect to feel when that day which can not be more and, one day I see him sitting, I lean towards his ear and whispered:
"You're the most handsome man I know.
Patricia .
... and I crush on you.
. That
: put yourself in his place and think what they would do in your situation.
.
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