40 A LABYRINTH INSIDE THE EMISSARY

40 A LABYRINTH INSIDE THE EMISSARY


A trillion of trillions of years later …

I slept with the recollection of the travelling stranger.
As those melancholy men of stone who fall apart in the deserts, the Emissary was remaining per hours immobile. It(he,she) was looking imperturbable at this last light, before the great storm was turning and started rolling below the planet. But he(she) was not attending to her actually(indeed). Centuries of centuries these eyes got tired of seeing you swim. It was as if inside his(her,your) eyes a life was happening(passing), more concrete than the poor reality of this late afternoon. A world was returning to his(her,your) mind what was inside his(her,your) eyes these evenings of powder? In his(her,your) slightly more important than eyes the reality it happened; the Emissary was pressing and keeping silent about them, affected in his(her,your) secret interior life. It was like the dead buildings that so much I visited, that seemed to say always something that I was never managing to understand, but that implacably always were saying it.

Sometimes I was waking up and noticing that the Emissary was looking at me fixedly. Still(yet) looking this way it(he,she) knew that my eyes were for him(it) a point anyone, an excuse to get lost inside yes same, always to an enormous distance of me. But I was thinking about feeling, occasionally, that some seconds it(he,she) was putting his(her,your) attention really(exactly) in me, his(her,your) eyes were at the time more brilliant and humid of the normal thing, were delineated like by certain sad longing on his(her,your) mute and contrite body. With the time this mute attention on me was becoming more concentrated, deep and frequent.