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A Modern Vision

Sitting in her rocking chair, she stretched her body, feeling restful; she enjoyed the touch of the tender fresh air on her face. The opposite widow was widely opened, and the evening tender wind was playing with the curtains. Before few years, this same window was ever close; afraid the dust could spoil the clearness of her home, throw, and break her precious objects.
Few years ago, the wild wind had turned her life up down; today, she yields to it, let it plays with everything, and enjoys it.

I taught him language, he was my student, it is not a strange story, and not rare; neither in the past nor in today, there are many similar love stories, which now seem to me less than normal. A schoolteacher falls in love with her young student; a teenage boy and a few years older woman. Divorced by a man who had packed his belongs to travel; she encouraged him to find his way, to succeed, but when he picked the fruits, he lost the way home. The West civilization has tempted him to stay there, A sand, Coming from the thirsty desert, to sink in the ocean.

I refused to follow him, my dreams should be executed here; on hard ground. I built my special world, systematically. He promised to come back, but he never did.
My bitter despair darkened his image in my memory, so I asked for divorce, to complete the frame of this picture, spiritually and mentally.

I continued to live according to my plans, a language teacher. I buried the seeds of sorrow, which this miserable experience planted inside me. There was a spot of hope helped me to wait for a true love, in which I still believe.

Days and weeks elapsed, curtains still dropped on the heart, preventing the worm beams of the sun, and the light wind of the spring. Even there were various calls; but my heart has turned to be an old fashion machine, the modern signs seem to be strange, unacceptable, and dim. My spirit died, but my body still working and working, collecting money, getting more luxury, in my home, my car and my cloths, thus cannot turn the hard metal in my eyes into tears, any type of tears; happy or sad, tears which may let me feel that I am still a human being, effecting life either positively or negatively.

His presence was remarkable, his eyes were bright and wit, interrupting cleverly, he was not dull to snub him, and his jests made me laugh long. Staring at him abstractedly; handsome, smart, and merry, his character was attractive. Many times he kept me long after the lesson, asking question then wittily slap into a long conversation.

He entered my life with a cup of coffee, to know all my details, until his presence became a necessity, I did not hesitate to accept his invitations, the reason might be my long solitary, or it might be his specialty, the most important: the difference between our ages made me feel save.

Gradually I fell in deep love, and thought he is too; may be I convinced myself that it is true. Is it right that our affection are but a reflection of the other? Alternatively, is it only an illusion? My mind did not take any protective process in consideration, as if he has damaged all the warning systems in it, or may be I did. My heart has woken beating strongly with life, receiving his burning beams, without asking me; he draw off the curtains. I found myself in his deep sea; a lost ship with no wing, no direction, no oar. A sinker who did not know how to deal with the wild waves; trying to push my head out- his salty love in my eyes- pushed again to the deep bed by the heavy patience I suffered long from. The only safety hoop thrown to me was his neck, and to hold it fast was the sole solution.

He recognized my fondness, and realized that my resists had drained, and that I have gave up to what I had thought fate but was only a net he was knitting wittily, became sure that I had used to his fresh blood going into mine; requiring him everyday to irrigate my thirsty garden with his water.

At first, the required amount was little, cannot be refused; there were no limit between us, love united us, money would not differ, coins with no value, and I have a lot of. This no value amount, had increased day after day, the last request was to buy him a car, which dazzled me, made me stand unable to understand, unable to reply his desire; he left me for days.

I recovered from a fever hallucination, to see the fact nicked, on which he put a silk coat for so long, and understood that I was paying him in turn of his love. Burst in long mad laugh, until I cried long. Turned down all my furniture, precious masterpieces broke expensive pots I had. I was angry with myself not with him, me who believed him, who was so stupid, a big fool to think he was true. Then, calmed down, my entire house was in mass. Looking at these flinders, I thought deeply, closed my eyes and looked inside me; I still love him? He still Satisfy me. Then, I will pay him until I recover.

Seven months were enough. The amount I was paying would not bother me, nevertheless, my senses of him as a whore faster my recovering. Unimaginable fact; a wonderful, well-built young man, uses himself to get money. I know many girls who do so, why should I disapprove it for a man? He is free to do so if he is satisfied with; he had chosen it a way to live. Should a whore be a woman? He is making love to get what he wants, a modern vision.

He get out of my life same way he entered I, gradually. Time kisses our wounds blessing us. I pushed him away exactly as any man might do with a whore after paying her. Swam alone back to the shore, something has been broken inside; my belief in love. It is just an illusion in which, women only, believe, they create it to put a frame around their stories, giving a romantic color to their lusts, exactly as we usually do to our pictures putting them on the walls.

I opened my windows widely. Enjoyed life to its extremes, now, I understand the modern love, there is no need, any more, to put illusions around it, there is no need for love’s words; the time is so fast, and can not wait for them, there is only a momentary lusts, rapid fulfillment, going so fast.

The remains, are shots taken during my journeys and travels ; souvenirs signed by different names, what is the benefit of names if shots are same; showing me and any young man, any wonderful younger who might inspire me short love poem, who might put me on fire for may be days or months if I like. On intention, I never allow it to be for long, as traveling lonely is my favorite, and to transport among stations is my hobby. Always I finish my journey, or you may say, my relation, with a precious gift to the short road companion, the most important thing, is that he should be young, and let him, after my leave, fetch for another woman, who is still believe in love, I mean, the old fashion of love.

She is still sitting there, on her cradle, rocking forward and backward, and the wind; the wild wind is still striking the curtains..


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by najwanajati

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