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"Et si, si jamais c'était possible, j'enlèverais toutes les épines de ta rose juste pour te serrer dans mes bras."
Kendji Girac_French singer
Ethan
When I invited Norabel out for a walk the last thing I expected was for us to end up with her arms wrapped around me as her soft body pressed against the rigid outlines of mine.
I made an impulsive decision by asking if she wanted a hug. To be honest I was quite surprised when she walked into my open arms. I know that first love stories carry a lot of weight for many people and Norabel's experience is proof that it can be hard to forget about your first heartbreak
I don't think I've ever hated someone I've never met as much as I hate that piece of worthless garbage named Carl. I hope that whichever country he immigrated to Karma followed him there to bite him in the ass.
He's probably working some shitty 9 to 5 job, earning a crappy minimum wage salary. His boss must be some sadist who enjoys making the workplace a living hell for his employees. I bet Carl spends endless miserable days dreaming about many scenarios in which he could strangle his boss and get away with it. Then when he finally gets home I'm sure he posts on social media pretending to live his best life abroad to boost his insufferable ego.
Did I mention I hate the guy?
Despite the cowardly way that he broke up with Norabel, I noticed while she recounted the story that somehow she's still attached to him. It's in the way that she pronounces his name, "Carl", with a hint of bittersweet edge to her voice. Whenever she says it, the melancholia I detect in her tone has the same effect as a punch in my gut. Maybe that's the reason why I offered the hug.
"Is it weird that I don't want to let go yet?"
Norabel's voice comes out a bit shy and my chest suddenly expands upon hearing her question.
I feel myself grin like I've won the lottery as I keep holding her in my embrace.
"I don't want to let go either," I confess.
***
I had planned to take Norabel up on a hill where she could admire the breathtaking view of the sunset but when we walk pasta playing ground where some children, mostly girls, are playing with a jump rope we both stop for a while to look at the kids who are having fun.
"This part of the neighborhood is so different from the area we just left," Norabel whispers.
I glance around noticing the modest one-story houses that are starting to come into view. Some of them even though occupied are unfinished; they lack the coating of paint that would cover their concrete walls and some have makeshift iron bars in the empty spaces where windows should be. None have those fancy high gates that we passed by earlier.
