It is a winter night in Vrsar (Croatia)
The conversation touches the dawn. Urška is younger than I thought when I first looked at her. Smiling, nervous, warm, something unknown, barely hidden under the surface, ripples the mood of her beautiful green eyes. I know it is not tension of approaching, nor mystery of a woman. We sit together in the simple kitchen of the hostel. Outside is welcoming silence. She wears a ridiculous pink and white pajamas. I met her few hours ago in a bar. She was the bartender. I asked her where I could find a cheap place to stay tonight. She told me she is in charge of an hostel where she actually lives. It is where we are now. The tea is ready. She pours two cups.
I’m eighteen years old … No, I’m Slovenian … My brother is dead … My family does not want me. She smiles and looks away as to apologize. There is no morality in this never ending cellular obsession: born and die to let the life rises again looks the only purpose, the reality follows rules that are beyond justice and human understanding. fate is random events, hope gives it a meaning.
I’m sorry for your brother. She looks at me again, her eyes throbs a sensual darkness, broken sometimes by flashes of extreme sweetness. You, do you have family? She smiles at me, this time really: the night is like a crystal vibrating to return her voice as an echo that comes from an hidden part of the darkness, a point that is not her mouth, red, fine, that I discover I would still kiss. She is tiny, long straight hair dyed of black. She is the night, or a strange reflection or just a presence, someone who has been dreamed and never born.
Yes, but I am a stranger when at home, They know nothing about me, I know little about them. I never miss them. It is not true, I have discovered again my family along the years. They have a child, but he is a character in their mind, a character created according to taste and needs, if he does not accept the role they chose for him he is embarrassing, annoying, inconvenient: wrong. The funniest is that it is his fault. They pour on him obsessions, fears, limitations, justifying every abuse with a supposed debt of gratitude that he should have, because they were in the mood to get their own little creature. We are who we choose to be Urška, and you’re brilliant. Find our people, the affinity, is beyond the ties of the blood. I make one more tea. I needed to lie.
Hours and words pass by, It is when talking is easy, like breathing or drinking water. We touch experiences, places, wishes or curiosity about our common daily life: it is a spoken journey. I was dreaming a lover and the night gave me a friend. The sun rises. Good night Urška.