He and I

'He and I'... a prose poem, sent by Miss Radiyya Sayf al-Din, from Latakia, to 'the imaginary writer she loves'...
And in this intimate confession the reader senses a soft literary spirit, which the young lady sends forth through the folds of the words.

He and I...

To the imaginary writer I love...

The night gathered us between its tender eyelids, while the light of the moon flooded the walls of the room from the corners of those open windows; and those lights seeped into our two hearts, carrying the memory of far-off phantoms hovering about the edges of the room. And our sighs began to pass back and forth in this silence that had spread its wings over everything there.

The first half of the night went by, and the second half began to wrap us in its late hours, while we both lay sunk between a lowered glance and weary looks; neither of us, through this time that passed so quickly, could understand what those drowsy lashes were gathering in of images and fanciful dreams — dreams that have remained, even unto eternity, before our visions: a beautiful dream that goes on, a wandering phantom that will not come to rest.

Throughout this while, which I did not wish ever to end, I saw myself happy, while upon our two figures standing in the mirror beside us I saw a shade of redness over features which withering had almost effaced in that interval. And the moonbeams began to bid farewell to our phantoms hovering in those black shadows, while the converse of glances and whispers went on — meeting one another and returning, broken by awe and shyness, without a motion. And so, in one brief moment, as I turned my gaze toward the floor of the room, from which I was accustomed never to lift my eyes, I heard a deep sigh, a burning breath from his chest, followed by his words: 'It is three o'clock past midnight, my dear...' And I felt his hand about to touch my face, and by an involuntary movement I found myself starting up in astonishment and confusion, though I had wished to ask him to do as he pleased. And there he made no further movement, but bowed toward the ground, brooding in his thoughts, and did not try to raise his eyes to see the features of my face, which were saying to him: come forward. And after no short while he went out of the room, leaving my phantoms and my dreams to search for him in that darkness, to embrace him with the eternal, everlasting embrace...

Latakia: Qurfays