Gustavo had become restless. He was fixated on some distant thing, some figure from a dream. Through the haze of travelling and music; booze and exhaustion he remembered the woman clearly. He could not play, he could not eat, he could not dream. With the last of his money Gustavo bought a horse, then he kissed his troupe goodbye. They could not understand how he could give up his freedom for a woman he'd met once. They were in the prime of their careers, soaking up the glory of fame, able to see the world and be admired across that world. But they did not understand how it felt. He set off towards Maequil, he had decided to travel the long way around, to avoid the forest of shadows. Avoiding his homeland too.
He rode through bogs and marshes, thick with mist, amongst dead twisted trees and clouded sunlight. Periodically along the journey he scribbled fragments of poetry in his pocket notebook, about devotion of the heart; about beauty. The journey was long and lonesome, he sat and watched many a sunset wishing after the company of his troupe or a beautiful woman, or any woman really. He grew melancholy, he doubted that he would ever see his friends again. Gustavo had forgotten to think about his companions while consumed by the mad rush of passion, he often wondered if he had made the right decision but her image still filled his mind. In the nighttime he mouthed the words of his poetry, as if in prayer.
"I have found something, like coming back to life, like spring. The God of love had cursed me with eternal joy. I am a slave to my hunger. I am human."
YOU ARE READING
Lily of the valley
FantasyFrom the deepest snow drifts of the north to the glaring sun of the desert, from the depths of the ocean to the heights of the open sky there was an unease. It lived in every child, in every sighing tree and every twinkling star. This discontent swi...
