The music’s already blasting when I enter de building. He doesn’t know I’m coming. That I’ll be watching him. Waiting for him.
The walls around me are old and crumbling. The smell is moist, moldy. I should get him a nicer place, where he can enjoy everything that involves his greatest passion.
When I round the corner, Angelo comes in full view. For a second I can’t do anything more than look. I think I don’t even breathe. He’s beautiful, agile. He tells a story with his body. Moving on the tunes of an old song, floating about the room. Spinning, jumping, moving his arms and legs in unity.
He creates this lovestory by movement alone. Swaying along with his desire, touching himself in eagerness with his eyes closed, imagining the hands of his lover. Telling about the fear to open up, physically pulling back. His spin narrates the turmoil, excitement, apprehension while they are together. But like so many lovestories, this one ends in heartbreak.
While Angelo leaps into the air on the last notes of the song and touches the floor in a graceful, yet broken, heap, I walk into the room. The words “I’m sorry” roll about my lips.
I’m kneeling in front of my man and I know what we have isn’t meant to end.
De originele eerste versie van deze tekst is opgenomen in de internationale bundel POETICA VOL.1 van By Me Poetry.