The phone rings and she runs to pick it up.

 

 

She has been waiting all day to run to that phone.

To pick it up and softly say “Hello?’

Even though she wouldn’t even have to say hello.

She knows who is at the other side of that phone.

 

He is doing the same thing, in another city, in another home, in another room, in another life.

He dialed her number and waited . He has been waiting for the whole day to dial that number.

 

 

It’s dark already. The busy hassle of yet another lonely day has subsided...the night had finally arrived, merciful.

It has covered the city with the soothing mantel of her darkness. Hearths rest, smiles stay, eyes close, children sleep and the lonely heart people start to invent another way to defend themselves from the solitude.

 

 

But not them.

They have been sorted by Fate and assigned to these blissful calls.

 

So the phone rings but only for few seconds. He holds it in his hand and a smile stretches the skin of his cheeks. She has this power, you know, of melting his resistances and giving him back his heart.

 

 

So she says hello, anyway.

He says hello to her too.

 

The nocturnal dance can start....she reclines on the bed, with the back of her shoulder against two pillows that lays against the headboard. No light in the room. She doesn’t need any light to see his face.

 

He seats on his bed as well.....his legs abandoned, his body relaxed, finally.

 

She laughs a short laugh of nervousness........she does it any time...she cant help it ....the first sound of his voice in her ears makes her simply restless, incapable of  bear any distance between herself and that desired voice.

 

 

Even tonight his voice explodes, once more, in her brain and she gasps imperceptibly

 

But he hears it.... and he captures that gasp. In his memory is always itched for Eternity.

 

He is tense, again unable to avoid the childish amazement that causes him to close his eyes and deep breathing listening to her voice.

She caresses her hair....a strand of blonde hair falls on the side of her cheeks. These stupid hair that have no value since he can touch them.

 

She says it to him. She says: “My hair have no sense if you don’t touch them”.

 

Her words take his breath away.......she always talks like the book he had been waiting for too long to read......the fingers are those calls in the middle of the night, those languid, murmured conversations that flip the pages of their lives.

 

He says something funny. He is like this, she thinks, he is funny.

 

She laughs with him.

 

I could tell you the many silly things they would talk together. I might tell you the lovely feeling of intimacy that arrives to unveil their real selves.

 

She is in such a great mood, tonight. He smiles and smiles. Then the desire sudden thought break the apparent limitless current of their voices...

 

She is in love with voice of his........he talks like a prince, she thinks, like a Renaissance courtesan at the court of Caterina de Medici, like a cool dj spinning endless tunes in the night, like an educated, cultured man who dispenses love and historical notions about  Napoelone Bonaparte’s Waterloo battle.

 

So they keep advancing toward the center of the night....one voice sensually intertwined to the other one...round vowels making love with sharp consonants, sentences wrapped up around questions and laughter....oh, those sweet laughter he laughs, she thinks......

 

For him too is her unrequited laughter that shapes the sense of his love and warms his body, passionately.

His laugh brings thrilling goose bumps along her spine.

She has to stop once in a while to recollect her thoughts. He knows what she is doing during those micro pauses.

He loves her for those little deaths too.

 

The intimacy finally reveals her face to the lovers.

Sweet nonsense builds frail tents to be used as cover in case of the gelid rain of reality.

 

Tonight the benevolence smiles at them ...she let herself go in the ocean of possibilities and their beds seem fluctuate, oddly, in the black sky like flying rugs over a shining Casablanca.

The desire only sheepishly waits its turn in the dance.

 

 

There will be then the time of sighs and moans, frantic fingers in search of the portals of their pleasures, sweet instructions to follow without resistance.

 

“I want you to touch your body” he will whisper in her ear in the dark, his voice a pool of sensuality.

She will obey, in a surrender made of crazy abnegation.

 

She will say also “Talk to me, scream my name, let me hear the sound of your loved voice to give solace to this desire for you”...

 

He will do it for her.

She will do it for him too.

 

For yet another long night the two lovers will try to connect, reach out to the stretched limit of their bodies to feel the presence, to fill the void, to breath like a Oneness that was badly missing and now is unbearable to contain.

 

And so.....I want to say goodnight to all the lovers that in the dark of this new night will make love to each other with their voices, trying to be infinite like the universe and closer than a sigh.