COME INTO MY SIDE

I didn’t know why we met, or how it happened. Even now I don’t know. I only know that it was destined to be so, that the line of his life intertwined with mine; and that not even time nor the world could separate us. Neither then nor ever. What is it that makes a man and a woman know that, of all men and women in the world, they belong together? Nothing but chance and meeting? Nothing but being alive in this world at the same time? Is it just a curve of the throat, a stroke of the chin, the shape of the eyes, the way of speaking? Or is it something deeper and more mysterious, something beyond having met, something beyond chance and luck? Are there other people, in other ages, that we would have loved, who would have loved us? Or maybe there is one soul among all the others – among all those who have been alive, generation after generation, from one end of the world to the other – who must love us or die? Which, in turn, we must love – that we must seek all our life, everywhere and in spite of everything, until the end?

Do you know when you find yourself on the edge? When one day, for some stupidity, tears come to your eyes. When one word too many, an insignificant gesture hits you deeply. It does not mean that you are frail or weak, but that you have endured too much, too long. But you are art, boy. You are better than the David or the Mona Lisa, even the Last Judgment. You’d be better off than the whole Louvre on a spring day. And also of spring itself. What envy you make her: her flowers will never compete with your beauty, they will never understand your being so delicate. And it’s music in my thoughts when I see you, but hell, you’re even more than that. Other than Bach, Chopin and Mozart, your laughter is my favorite melody.