was hard to look at my shop, I had built from nothing, full of pain, just a couple of years ago. It was impossible to watch every single object I had placed on the furniture, without finding a reference to the person who had left me alone at the altar. I saw the wicker baskets where I had put all the flowers that day, that I had personally prepared. The ribbons of various thicknesses and fabrics that adorned the benches of the small church, right in the middle of nowhere. I was waiting, sitting on my bench in front of a Madonna with the Christ in her arms, probably dating to 1300. I waited for my simple dress and white - colors that I wanted to see more from that day. It was an autumn day, clear and crisp, not cold. I remember the golden light filtering through the small windows, thin, and refracted against the gold, now matte paintings. There was something magic in the air.
And the minutes passed, passes relentlessly. And he did not come. The flowers were starting to lose their force and their glory, surely. The golden light was a strange tension loading, forming a cloud above me, where the tension was becoming more intense, almost ready to electrocute, charged with a thunderbolt of doom and gloom. The atmosphere became more and more suffocating for me, and the simple dress I wore on him, suddenly seemed heavy, and seemed to shake with malice.
I became anxious, my smile was more forced and the murmur of the few people I found echoed in his head, an annoying hum that I could not drive, a crescendo of voices, concerns and anxieties, which exploded when he arrived, pale and sad, without even entering the church.
" I need to talk."
I got up, throwing the bouquet on the ground and ran to him.
What a strange thing, when I saw him, I was not raised at all, indeed, his serious expression that did not stir me even more. Yet with him I had always felt safe, protected and defended, and I had always been ready to do the same for him. When you lose your shield, there's nothing you can protect the same way. And if this shield is called Love, there is nothing like it, is simply indispensable, especially you can not 'give to anyone, or better, you can not donate to anyone. Sometimes it is hard to imagine that the person you love at that moment, at that precise moment, was in turn love others. Sometimes you think how the other may have been popular with other people, whether as sweet and passionate, it will grab the hand, or in the arms exactly as it does with you. Sometimes he is jealous of a past, a memory that was not even yours, and you do not enjoy the present with the right mood. Those people were in the past, and this person is now with you, and that's what counts. Seeing her always present for you that turns to you, especially, was very great and boundless to you, I think it's the greatest reward, as well as a small personal satisfaction.
This castle of thoughts and emotions collapse if it lacks the essential basis: sincerity. The honesty of revealing the cards, in accordance with the other person, which is thus able to decide what to do with their relationship. You can 'go on suffering, but struggling to conquer or succumb to the pain of not being able to change that. Or do not start at all, and go their own way, waiting to find someone else.
The world comes down on me when he told me he had another, for some time. Excuses excuses about, but he knew how I felt heartbroken. Suddenly, everything I had built solid with him, it seemed as fragile as tissue paper, a veil ripped from the dishonesty, that covered my heart, and choked him, beat furiously, pumping in anger blood in the arm that quickly got up and drove a slap in the face. And that did make more noise a jump on the chair to the guests. More than this I could not do. After the dry snap, it was as if the anger, the urge to scream and fill it blows, it was evaporated. I felt exhausted, alone. tried to speak, to apologize, but for me no more. Dead and buried. I felt an empty shell, without heart, without the sap that made me full of enthusiasm to the altar. I felt that someone was trying to get me out of there, my courage, but I did not understand anything, I could not feel anything. Imploded in myself, but I could not even cry, or maybe I did not want tears of pride.
I went back to our house that had to be totally alone, I did not want anyone to accompany me. It was just to take my clothes off and run away from there. I did not want to be more, not now that I had been betrayed in every way.
was no longer living, just survival. When you survive the day you do not get much for something to change, that someone or something will reveal the purpose for which you are in the world. There was nothing else to do. Wander around looking for something, someone that brings you back to life again and with new stimuli, which makes you forget all the bad times. I wandered that evening for that village, I walked through the fields, the streets that led me to other remote villages, until, in the dark night, with eyes full of tears, I saw a lovely house, with ground floor space for a shop, the shop windows and large dirty. Inside, old wood furniture in need of an accommodation. The upstairs was just a house. I was inexplicably drawn to. Away from all those who had made me suffer, but I did not know which country that was, how far from my house, I do not care anymore. I opened a store, I would have something to sell and tell, and I could find my purpose.
It was raining hard and I went away, just in front of that home, my new home, and waited all night and all morning, until, as wet as a chick, I saw someone get out of there.
"It 's sales in this house?" I asked him unceremoniously to the woman who stood before me, that certainly was surprised to see me. And certainly suspicious, I looked quite scary.
"Yeah, sure, but I do not think you ..." began puzzled.
"Forget my appearance, I've been waiting for hours," I suddenly sour and "buy it all.."
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