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The Wax Idol

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Wax Idol

He listened her shuddered, and looked her with great pleasure – primarily because he loved her because she revived his long forgotten feelings and emotions, thought lost forever. She said he is good and he speaks so beautifully, and she does not deserve his love. His heart, harshed by many clashes and sanctioned by many setbacks that he had not taken into account, softened like the rough yellow-gray wax,  used for candles in altars …

He skipped, proudly, all barriers of age, the tough traditions of an entrenched society, ready to punish every gesture. He showed once again that he does not care about the whole world, but she didn’t accept his sacrifice. She knew that it hurts now, but his only joy was that this way will not hurt her later.

He was the idol of many young people, enjoys the respect of others, many well past early youth, he seemed intransigent and cold, but at times he watched and listened her, he was vulnerable. When he could no longer put power in words, he sat his hopes in red and white roses, but how much power can have the poor flowers cut in the middle of the summer, even if they are refreshed by the cool of a carafe of water !?

For the first time he was looking the watches as enemies, just because they measure the TIME that did not matter to him, not helping him anymore with his passage…

He left, therefore, leaving behind a fragile illusion and a million hopes dripping in the carafe where the thin hands rested the roses stems. In the cool of the room, he let the tears flowing into the soul, heavy as the yellow-gray wax drops, then in the puddle formed from the wash he rinsed his feet and stood up to go further …

(Translated from aMorale, by Marius Cilibia)

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