is called “Rome”. It is something in between of mahogany and wine. Her fluffy hair is put in a messy topknot bun and a single hair is laying on her naked shoulders. Her breasts are covered by silky piece of cloth, but you can still see them. She was never afraid or ashamed of her beautiful young body as she is not now. She is smoking a hand-rolled joint and tells me that the nighttime has caught her wondering about love.
“I am angry how much I change when I am around him. It feels like the strong independent woman disappears. I become such a girl. I hate it.”
The room starts to feel smaller and the open window reminds it is still February ugly weather. “How can the safest place be the most dangerous one? I feel insecure and calm when he holds me in his arms.” She has not felt like home in such a long time. But this kind of home that his presence has become for her - she has never had.
“I am so fucking in love”, - she will tell me weeks later, laying on my bed. And only then her logic will interrupt. “He can be arrested any minute. Each time he is not answering my calls, I am going crazy.”
I am holding my breath before I am offering the idea of getting out of this relationship while she still can. “Too late. It would be as painful later as It would be now.” I look closely and I still see the powerful woman she always was. The one that could go through so much and always put herself on the first place. But what we see is just what we want to. I can relate. The great love gives us a lot, but she takes more. She puts us high just to take us lower. She asks us to feel safe and warm just to freeze us to death. You clearly see that, but you are no more in a power over your actions or thoughts.
The quick flow is taking you down to the waterfall. And only God knows if there is a heaven after all.
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