It knew that it’s only a moment, a beautiful one, like no other, and this condition only, of incomparable pleasure, made it not be upset with the man to which it belonged.
He had lived the moment long time ago, when he was still at the border between the physical condition of a boy, looking for such moments, and the man concerned with a million of thoughts, a million of other problems, and almost an equal number of solutions …
It was, therefore, a flash, bright but much too short, during the existence of this man, who never tried to repeat it… It remembers his shining eyes flashed by a strange light, when he had seen that face shaded by long lashes, wrapped in silky blond hair and bright by the blue irises of the girl’s eyes to which he had given the beauty of the moment still in his memory.
Why didn’t he try, wondered the forgotten moment, to relive it? Why didn’t he say to the girl what he felt? What had happened? Why didn’t he try to find another girl, so that his eyes to shine ardently with that strange light at the sight of her face, and his soul to give birth to other other moments like it, which remained forgotten in a desolate corner of the soul?
It couldn’t explain, especially since he had not been allowed to roam free, to know the world and everything that is related to it. Then it would have known that the girl, whom HE had given the forgotten moment of supreme happiness, struggled her lashes for another, a common man who, a few years later, penchant for drunkenness, had broken a jug of wine in her so nice face, dripping one of her blue irises over the wounds of her face, soul, and the memory of the forgotten moment …
(Translated from aMorale, by Marius Cilibia)
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