The
Actor
I remember him very well. He was sitting there when I opened
the door. He was an interesting and deep person. While looking at him, even
from behind, I could feel; he had an adventurous life. He was loved, respected,
celebrated. People wished to be where he was. He was a shining star, a star.
I was trying to look at him with my own eyes, but it was my soul
that was feeling him, it was not my body. I had a very frightening feeling but
I was able to overcome it. For a moment I thought it was that feeling; the
feeling which you have after death.
I was in a room, near the entrance door; a room filled with
old furniture, yes, I remember! It was a dark room; an old, dark room filled
with wooden furniture. There were windows but they were covered because I couldn't see or feel the sun. I don’t usually like hot and sunny days. I guess
my inner can be melancholic sometimes. It’s when the fire and earth combine, I
suppose. I’m the result of those 2 elements. It’s weird though, I like wind and
water …ah, anyway.
The aura in that room was something different. The love I
have for antiques is something indescribable. I saw an enormous, oval-shaped
table, a paper, oh, no, it wasn't a paper; it was something like a diary.
He took the pen and started writing. I couldn't see his
face, I was standing behind him. That room; It wasn't a place for random
physical creatures like us; humans. It was a deep place; a place for souls. It
was a room full of emotions; emotions which you don’t express; love, fear,
sadness. I remember I tried to feel my heartbeat but I couldn't. It felt weird, if I knew my physical body was
there, I would say I was feeling dizzy, but…
It was a blink, darkness then light. My heartbeat turned on;
I breathed as if I was about to drown.
I was in a bar, there were people; some happy, some sad,
some laughing, some tearing apart. “What does that person feel? What does he
see while sitting there?”…
I was observing that place; I didn’t even ask the question
“How the hell am I here now?” For a moment I froze. I looked closely, it was
him! Was it that person? No, I couldn't see his face in that room, I would
never recognize him. No, it was him! I sat down, I stared their side. A bunch
of men; drinking beer, laughing; they were celebrating something. I tried to
hear what they were talking. I closed my eyes, turned on my ears; a movie? Who
is he? What movie? Wait, what? An actor?
I opened my eyes. Men were surrounding him and another person; maybe his best
friend; they were in the centre of everything; they were the leaders of the
night, the shining stars.
I looked down for a minute, “No, it is not him, Elizabeth,
you are wrong. The person in the room was older, he had wrinkles; I remember the
hand, the one which was writing fast, so fast as if it didn’t want to miss anything.
No, I remember it.
I was observing men standing and laughing; friendship;
happiness I was so keen in them that those emotions transferred to me. The time
stopped, it was a picture which I would never forget. I named it “THE MEN!”
I blinked as if I knew I would never ever see them again. I
opened my eyes; the heartbeat was gone, the feeling of soaring returned. That
man was still writing, I looked at his hand, I saw the wrinkles. I tried to
walk slowly because I did not want to disturb him but the parquet made the
noise; it was ancient. He turned and
looked at me with a nervous expression on his face; concentrating,
concentrating, he was trying to remember something.
I looked around, “What is this place?” The smell of old furniture, books. A library?!
Why did I pay attention to that person? Why was he alone in there? “It was him, Elizabeth, you were right!” said
the inner voice. “Then what is happening? Is he going to depart soon?” The
feeling of sorrow took over me. I started blinking fast; I wanted to see
another part of his past; I could not.
While looking down, I felt a hand on my shoulder; my skin
crawled. I turned back slowly; it was him. He smiled while looking at me; a
tear ran down my cheek while I looked in his eyes. “It was him!” An old
grandpa, with a smile on his face, the smile I saw while I was in the illusion.
-Our life is the reflection of the memories we make. Live
it; the life; feel it, because at the end of your life you are going to see
pictures, darling. Pictures of those adventures you were through; LIVE; so that
you feel the thrill of happiness while
the soul leaves the body of yours. A person dies twice, you know that. One time when you stop
breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for
the last time. He smiled.
-I’ll always remember
you, Sir!
-May you have stories
to tell and feelings to express. Don’t reside, LIVE!
He vanished. I looked
around; it was noon. I sat down on the chair where he was sitting; I saw the diary,
I got surprised and sorrowful to find out that the last thing he wrote was the
part of his life; the part that I saw and felt; the illusion.
I opened a new page. I
took the pen with my trembling hand. I looked around for the second time, I
remembered “THE MEN!” and tears on my eyes, smile on face; I wrote;
“Sir, I was not able to ask your name, but I REMEMBER you. Rest
in peace, Sir, whoever you are, wherever you rest, I remember you!”
P.S. She knew she would never ever see that place again.
