Lost and Found

She lies on her unmade bed and stares out the window. The kids are playing football on the road today. Those Italian street kiddos, loud and rebellious. He used to come and play with the kids too. The sweat on his body would dazzle on hot summer days and she would lean out of her window and take a deep breath as if to inhale every moment of his mere existence. If there were any one who was comparable to him, she knew none of them. She longed to be held in his long muscular arms and be consumed by his touch and in his thoughts. His view fascinated her and put her at ease. She was composed. He never looked at her directly, yet she felt exposed, revealed and touched in all her true forms. Her heart raced faster each time he looked at her. She believed that she was found. Before he vanished into the streets after playing with the kids, he always turned his head around and looked at the window on the 6th floor. It was his form of saying good bye. She would have killed to posses the power to read his exact thoughts whenever he looked at her. God knows what his blue eyes were yearning for. And if she knew, she would have traveled the world to find it for him. Nonetheless, she took his stare as her only sign. After all, it was the only word he ever spoke to her in his silence. She gets up from the bed as if she suddenly remembered something important and glances outside the window. He isn’t there today. 8th day of her waiting. Her heart sinks and a deep sigh escapes her mouth into the dusty air. When is he coming back? She goes back to the bed and buries her head in her pillows. The noise of the kids keeps echoing on the street walls of the overcrowded neighborhood.



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