Length of thoughts / Short Story by Marjeta Shatro – Rrapaj

 
Short Story by Marjeta Shatro – Rrapaj
 
 
Length of thoughts
 
It happens that a conversation can start from the opposite, inverted and as in dizziness the arguments are sought to defend the ideas he puts forward. The misunderstanding created between them had thus begun, almost disbelieving and with numerous dubious shadows. They communicated with each other with excessive nervousness, and why in such cases you could leave room for silence, but the secret desire and why so messy pushed them to stay together and discuss as long as possible.
-Don’t you take me for naive? – she shouted. He thinks that I am not able to discern your well-conceived illusions in my mind, which he presents to me as the latest concepts, but which constitute nothing more than endless and almost tedious repetitions.
– I’m sorry that you completely misunderstood me, but in my mind there are no such fictions to question your authority and even more so your concepts of the whole approximate world.
-You are not able to understand a single word, not even a sound transcript. I hate you and that indifferent look of yours, which for me remains disturbing and very misleading.
There was a silence, where both eyes remained fixed on that imagination that brought other images, but it seemed that today they had suffered a great rift and were breaking and falling at their feet.
On the contrary, with your confession all the passion revives in me memories of the past, moods that excited me and came back as from the darkest fogs.
-Do you believe in God?
-I…! I can not say that I do not believe. I have respect for all those people who look to a guide, find their peace and spiritual peace.
– I do not know why evil is ugly, it often becomes murderous, and good is wonderful, chaste, almost innocent, but I know that the border between them does not exist.
Stupidity and absurdity had touched the target of genius mentality. Somewhere there was a perception of what man’s essence represents, as a form of consciousness and feeling, but also as a confusing being, who often wanders around in vain, meaninglessness or anxiety that limits him to the idols raised by himself.
-What is your purpose in life?
Nothing is cut. Not all can be explained, because the goals of each individual go beyond themselves. I can say that we are people in pursuit and striving to exalt and achieve perfection. “I like your penetrating nature, which seeks to penetrate everywhere, to know everything,” he smiled.
-I admit that I can be a closed type, but I do not know why I have unconsciously expressed to you the whole secret of my world. Maybe your nature is more than that, or more than mysterious. I do not deny that before you I stripped my naked truth.
He stood for a moment without moving, thoughtful, and at that moment a desire arose to embrace him with the most human sincerity. To her it was not naive, or worse it was a toy he could play with, but an example of chastity, which he loved very much and his endeavor consisted in all its reputation in reference to the fragility of the surrounding environment. He understood her fatigue of the day, her workload, her effort to face the challenges of art that often pushed her to the latest hours, she also understood the human artist-community relations, or the contradictions between them and a feeling compassion embraced the whole. He stood without speaking, chewing on thoughts that roared too far away, but suddenly he caught a disturbance. He was overwhelmed with horror and grief, which was clearly read in his eyes and weighed like a bullet:
“What if he lost her, as a friend”
They had worked together on many projects and felt good together. While today another situation had been created and even more so that he was well aware of her abducted temperament and perhaps should have been much more reserved. He was failing to find in his communication anything that had hurt him. The cold wind shook the ridges of the bare trees, the narrow, wet roads had become slippery as they stood facing each other, as if trying to discover their greatest secrets.
He followed with his black eyes, without much shine, but always calm and benevolent to her every move. He liked to express his unusual preoccupation.
“Life is an endeavor that seems difficult, and death is a form of peace for all the ordeal a person goes through,” he said in a low voice.
-Did you start believing in the eternal afterlife?
-No no! It’s like traversing a journey, where everyone runs to the last station. When time stops eternity begins. Time is a moment that passes through the eyes, I would call it more an opportunity to be given to leave the traces of the mission of coming to this world.
She was gloomily investigating his words-clad thoughts, she would like to ask him again, but did not dare, as it seemed to her that she would close herself in hermetically. He had begun to know his nature, why not like these kinds of conversations, it seemed as if they overcame him and immersed him in other imaginations, almost the meaninglessness of that world that had to be cooled down and appeared clearer before human reason. He had to go, he had a job he definitely had to finish. It left as the road seemed to reflect the length of the thoughts, which already had another illumination and shone unceasingly in endless shades.
 
Excerpted from the book: “Seagull Rhythm”
 

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