She had already been gone for two months now; he had heard nothing more of her.
The night before it was love, the next day in the house and in the heart, absolute emptiness.
They had a great passion in common: the Mountain.
Together they had climbed impossible peaks, faced the thousand difficulties that only the Mountain can bring to life, experienced unrepeatable emotions, and now he was alone with his memories, memories he could not share with Her.
And among the memories, the one of a dream, the Dream they would have liked to realize, that of living in the Mountains, overpoweringly surfaced.
They talked about it often until, one day, they decided to leave.
But that day two months earlier he, at the last moment, did not feel like it.
He had important work to finish, fulfilling work, and that was not the right time to leave, he was going to do it, but not on that occasion, he was going to take the stories to his publisher: tales of witches, fairies, unknown worlds, legendary peoples, to discuss and publish them.
She had looked him in the eye after making love, he had assured her that he would leave after finalizing the final arrangements for publication, she had said nothing, just a wistful smile on the handsome face, and in the morning the handsome face was gone, in its place a slip of paper-when you want, if you want.
He stood in front of that huge building, the headquarters of the publishing house.
It was evening, the lights fascinated him, inside each window he saw a world of people moving and for each window, he imagined a story to tell.
He was good and he knew it, just as he knew he created stories that would make him famous.
In each story was a piece of his life, in each story a dream for him to live and to live himself.
He lifted his face to the brightest spot and saw the publisher waiting for him with a toothy smile, lowered his gaze to the bag containing the manuscripts.
She smiled, looked up again, the editor had disappeared, in his place a female figure with a finger on the glass fogged by a light breath traced some letters: ottepsa it – finished writing the figure, as if by magic disappeared giving way to the thirty-two teeth – it can’t be Her – she thought – it doesn’t make sense, She hates these places. By dint of writing fantastic stories I am living them-with this thought he entered the publisher’s office, and as the publisher began to read the stories, he approached the glass curious to understand what the figure he had just seen had written.
On the glass the nothingness – I dreamed – he said letting out a sigh and that sigh made a writing appear – I’m waiting for you – he couldn’t believe it, it was really Her.
He looked at the editor intent on reading his stories and finally understood….
He returned home, gathered the few things he might need and set off, his only certainty being that he had to get to the top of the Mountain where she was waiting for him.
The journey seemed to be never-ending, time was spent imagining: he imagined the editor still there reading, imagined him as he looked up and noticed his disappearance and smiled.
Now he imagined Her and the Smile was happy to stay.
He arrived in the village late at night, Weariness was etched on his face and clamoring for rest.
He decided to go to sleep to wake up the next morning and begin the climb to a new life.
At last the Mountain was there in front of him, majestic and welcoming, it was a bit like coming home, he had always loved to climb the highest peaks ever faced as a human being, to get to the top and enjoy the view and the thrill of having succeeded by his own strength alone.
But getting to the top is not so easy alone, the climb tires and debilitates the body, time then is unforgiving if you are not prepared, and he was no longer prepared.
The chill was setting in as he was beginning to lose feeling in his hands.
It was still too many meters away from the Dream, and in those inhuman conditions he would not have made it.
It would take a miracle, but miracles he had never believed in even though he had been taught to believe in them to the last.
Life had taught him countless things but at that very moment he only felt like letting go, letting go.
Something in the air made him desist, a vague smell of smoke and a faint light not far away.
A cabin.
The last of his strength he employed to get to what seemed to be the only lifeline.
Tired, exhausted but with a smile he entered savoring the sweet warmth of a fire.
He let himself go intoxicated by the warmth and rejoicing in that moment someone had given him; he would never, ever want to walk away from life.
He closed his eyes for a single moment.
He reopened them immediately afterward.
A figure seemed to suddenly materialize, it was She-you know, I was waiting for you-was the only sentence she said.
Now I smile and enjoy what he will give me.
Now I smile because Love has returned to my life.
