i start to write, i need to write

short story

...

She said on the floor looking at him, and suddenly realized that she was unnecessary for him, even the painting in the apartment had more reason to exist in his world than her. He is independent, a brilliant example of a warrior, despite of lacking of his own team, he will stand still and will continue his own battle. 

She had no power and she was not a soldier, she lived a peaceful life with fantasy and hope, and again, hope and fantasy. She wanted to understand him, to feel his pain in order to be there, to appear right at the moment the pain invaded him, she just wanted to be there, to stop the pain, and then to "transfer" it to her world. 

She said on the floor watching him building his own wall, how could a human being spend time to build this kind of wall? self-defense? or just wishing to set him aside of the rest of us?

She felt hopeless. She could not even find the way to enter to the wall that he had built. Whenever she thought that she could go through it, he threw her ten miles away from it and by his gesture, he showed her that she had none of business in his wall's world. 

That was unfair for her. But that was the fact. The way he wanted her to see things under his view.

It was cruel for her. She had a heart and a soul. She gave them all to him, and threw away her dignity. She did throw it away long time ago when she decided to see him. She knew that at some points, she had to make a decision. And He was one of her big decisions in her indecisive universe. 

...

He embraced her every now and then, he threw her away every now and then. The insecurity in his love for her was obvious. He already built a wall for himself long time ago, he decided to be a solitude warrior in this world. He did not need companionship. He needed independence, how could she did not realize it at the first place?

...

She sit on the floor feeling her love for him blur in front of her heart and his wall.

30.9.2014

continuaré escribiendo..se me ha entrado las ganas de escribir, una manera de desahogarme. 

M.J y yo