wordsmith's manuscript

Chapter 9

I made one last coffee before leaving home. My mom was at work, which made me extremely happy, she's doing her best to improve, after a low comes a high. Or as Lucas Garcia once said, "Life has ups and downs, because with just ups I could get cocky, and with downs I could fear the height." I like to think there's a reason for everything that happens, that at the end of the race there's meaning to each obstacle overcome... Better days will come, just as worse ones will, but for now, I try to focus on the positive.

So I chose a jacket with cheerful, calm, and happy music, despite the night being cold; on the bright side, there were no clouds, and in the darker areas of the city, it was possible to see the stars, thousands of them with the naked eye, and there's nothing more beautiful than that, nature.

***

-But it makes sense, think about it. When you rip off a band-aid that's stuck to your body hairs, how do you do it? Do you rip it off quickly and feel intense pain, albeit brief, or slowly?

-Hmm... Slowly? - I murmured, still not understanding where he was going with this.

-Because it gives the false impression of hurting less, correct?

-Maybe?

-Don't be afraid to answer.

-Yes.

-People prefer to feel each hair being pulled than to suffer the skin tearing for a shorter period of time, just because they can't stand feeling something more intense, they fear it. When in fact, it hurts for longer when the band-aid is slowly pulled off than when it's done in an instan - I waited for him to continue, completely lost in his thoughts, yet somehow incredibly fascinating. Sitting beside me, gazing into the distance, while Charles was in his own corner with one ear on us and the other in his thoughts. - If you notice, it's just like goodbyes. Rarely does someone leave abruptly overnight. They all drift away slowly, talk less, and end up making excuses until the moment they want to share something with the other person and realize they've lost them. And one of the worst pains in the world is knowing you're losing someone you love, but there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop or prevent their departure. So, you slowly pull the band-aid, hoping it hurts less and that you 'get used to' the pain, when in reality, it always hurts relentlessly. That's the truth, the purest and most sincere truth.

It took me a few seconds to process all that information and relate the thought to the simple act of someone ripping off a band-aid. How did he arrive at that comparison? How did he manage to make sense of it?

-That's...

-Thoughts - he shrugged and turned his attention back to the blank sheet of paper.

-No, that's more than that, it's amazing.

-Listen to this! - Charles exclaimed loudly - I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo. - Then silence, neither Charles continued nor did Atley speak, just silence.

At least until my voice was heard.

-Arthur Rimbaud?

He put the book down.

-How do you know?

-The quote is famous.

-Only in books.

-So, it's famous...

-What do you think of the quote?

-Intense.

-What does it make you feel?

-Hmm... It makes me... I don't know... But... Well, - I tried to organize my thoughts so as not to stumble over myself and manage to finish with a complete and minimally acceptable sentence, - I can see that he was something beyond a writer, he didn't just write, he composed. He didn't describe feelings, he made us feel through mere words with profound meanings... I think.