[CONTENTID1]01.[/CONTENTID1]

[CONTENTID2]Wooden, Branches, Leaves. [/CONTENTID2]

[CONTENTID3]

He looked at me, and I looked back. Out of the corner of the eye because we were both stubborn, he was a little more so. Even hateful towards most people. A cuddly, clumsy mess next to me. But that was in the past, this is the now, the present; the only true reality in which we pretend that the other does not exist. That we were never a couple that couldn't live without each other, breathing the same air, observing the same things.

We were just people coinciding at a given moment.

We were just existing by chance in the same space–time.

He cleared his throat, and adjusted his leather jacket. Motorcyclist. He always wanted to be that, but he broke his knee in a public pool while he was practicing his favorite pastime: swimming. So now he used public transportation, and walked to avoid going to therapy, he would never go into the operating room for a knee reconstruction, giving up on his dreams became easier for him. More bearable.

There's a lot of information running through my head about this six–foot–something man standing just a few steps away, talking to our mutual friends, sipping wine, pretending I don't exist. And I, sipping wine, looking into the eyes of an old friend, ignoring the presence of the man I constantly called the love of my life. To whom I swore eternal love on a false altar mad