One More Time (jeanmarco)

one more time

[Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my frist language (so cliché, I know ;;)]

Many years had passed without seeing each other's faces. It had indeed been many years, so it wasn't one of those cheesy phrases people say, like "many days had passed" when the season hasn't even changed yet. They saw each other in a different way, with a life that was already built up, but with an aspect of it that had been left unsolved in the past. It had been entirely their fault, but they were too coward to even admit that fact with themselves and with their own pillows during the nights.

Sighs for both of them had become something regular in their lives, something of their everyday lives, something such as blinking. Their story was an important side of their lives and each of their partners were aware of it. Sometimes they were just having breakfast or having lunch when a sigh left their bodies. Some old people say that a sigh is a reflexion of how much do you miss someone and that that person misses you too; therefore, the air that leaves your body is either because it is needed or because you have too many inside you and that that belongs to somebody else.

Jean's daughter was always bringing out that habit to her father. Actually, sometimes she counted the times the man with the undercut did that action; the most she had counted had been 5 of them in an hour. "A new record, daddy", she had said and the only thing that Jean could do was to smile with melancholia.

A smile, but not a real one, it was always done with a little bit of melancholia... another habit, another action, an oxymoron in itself which had become another part of his personality. However, real smiles appeared on his face once in a blue moon (because not everything in this world can be that bad, right?). He had these smiles when your teeth show, when your eyes close and you radiate happiness through your pores, even if those times were counted with the fingers of both hands. Most of the time they were thanks to his wife who knew almost all of it, who knew that he had been in a relationship with Marco for many years; she knew that Jean had loved him very deeply but in relation to what her husband had told her, that strong love between them had died. A liar, that's how he felt, adding to that a miserable man and a coward. The last part was because he hadn't fought for him, even though he hadn't been the only one to blame, and he knew it, but it was almost impossible trying not to wonder what would have happened if... or if... and many "what if..." filled his mind in the nights during the year, especially at the beginning of all that situation. Of course that with the course of the years it didn't hurt as much as it did before, but there were still remains of some kindlings in his heart that reminded him of the past.

On the other hand, Marco didn't spend much time thinking about the past during the nights at that time because he has always been that kind of people who put their heads in their pillows and fall asleep right away (or anywhere, actually). However, he did think about it during the day. He was a person who lived when the sun did, therefore his pain was intense during those hours the first couples of months. It had definitely been the worst period of his life. On weekends he didn't go out, he didn't write on his blog, didn't open his cell phone, nothing at all. The only thing he did was watching tv for months in the mornings. After that, he made lunch, later he did some other things. Then, he went to bed earlier. Many days like those passed, even months. During the week, he fought even more. The stress only made that internal battle even worse, especially on his way home: that was a real torture. He always feared meeting him on the bus or on the streets and not being able to pass through him.