The Friend of the Last Great Magnate (1)

With the passing of the years, life has known how to flooded me with delights that I have known how to received me with smiles. It has taken me to the borders of pleasure and from there it has lowered me without a rope or ladder to soften the fall and me; I have always enjoyed the view. Yet now I am old and tired; wishing to die today.

But I’m not telling you that while we’re drinking red wine, I know very well what you’d say: “Old fool man, you’re so dramatic”. I would feel ridiculous because I’ve never enjoyed being treated like a fool and then your face would draw the wrinkles that I have witnessed form in those cheeks for over 40 years, and I would still want to kiss them without permission. Maybe yes; I’m a bit dramatic too.

That’s why instead of saying something to you, I just sigh. You stare at me, making me immediately wish I hadn’t sighed so heavily. Your childish eyes study me. You look beautiful and you know it. A woman who does not hide her body-worn by time, but by accepting it, she beautifies it. The same doesn’t seem to happen to my body, I reflect while trying to avoid your gaze, my hand touches the round bulge where once upon a time there were abs.

– Homesick? – you ask me.

I have never quite known if it annoys me more than it fascinates me, that you continually sneak into my mind without permission; so private to everyone but you. That truth has always made me smile even if I don’t want to.

– A little – I answer quickly and unable to contain an involuntary sigh; you look away.

– Who understands you? When you were young you sighed for not knowing who you would be when you were old, and now you are old you sighed for knowing who you were when you were young – you take the coffee, raise the cup with both hands as you have always done, take the first sip, close your eyes and smile – God, I like coffee – you say relieved.

– The best in New York, the Colombian – I show off, happy that the conversation focuses more on the caffeine in your glass than on the nostalgia of my day.

– Too bad I can’t take it as much as I would like – you add. I ask you a question with my eyes – the doctor – you explain to me almost immediately. Again the nostalgia arrives. I have never had anything against doctors, on the contrary, I have always deeply respected them, almost to the same level that I have ignored all their advice over the years. Now; If I’m honest, I would have liked to follow a couple.

– Well, one a year, it doesn’t hurt – I say confidently, you smile and tell me – whatever makes you feel better, little one. But I just feel older.