It all began one sunny afternoon, in your parents' countryside house. We had planned to spend the weekend by the sea shore, far away from a) the city noise b) the enquiring looks aimed at the both of us more often than not, and c) the horrible human beings and partners we were becoming due precisely to all those undesired circumstances we were starting to live. We still had each other back then, or that's what we were convinced of, in any case.
In spite of the heat that floated like a heavy burden over the whole beach-dense and liquid at the same time, with the impossible shape of home-made custard and the authority of an ubiquitous god-I remember that I was feeling some strange sort of coldness between us. Or perhaps this is an unfair way to describe it; perhaps it was just me who was feeling this icy cold sensation inside, like the one you feel when you find out that your beloved one has planned a vacation, trip or project without you. Keeping the paranoia inside was some big effort I always tried to make, though, for the sake of both. I can just hope you could see that, back then.
You were walking barefoot on the peanut butter coloured, wet sand with your hands inside your jeans pockets and a look on your face that I had never seen before (and, therefore, kept trying to identify and comprehend-the well-known human pride for dragging into his domain of reason even the things that don't need/want to be understood). I was trying to give you time. I was silently begging your mouth to articulate some sound, to tell you the truth. I was desperatly waiting for some clue that might led me to the vision of your soul or the trace of your memories, anything that could help me know you by heart.
I should have given you time.
When you lifted your head, at last, and used your watery pupils for looking directly into mine, it was me who turned away and finally lowered my head-for I could smell your remorse already. When you said the last words I remember ("I don't know if I will ever meet you again"), I was frozen, my gaze fixed, staring into the open sea.