~oOo~
Lucia.
She is everywhere. She has touched everything.
Every hole in the stone floor under our bare feet, it was known by her body, by her feet. Passing over the floor from one door to another, she like a wind frozen in time and pressed into the walls; a secret to be kept under their cold compresses.
The bed, the one Max shares with me, was once laid in by her. He held her, slept with her, as he does me. Though, with me it is only a memory of movements, a release, because I know when he looks in my eyes, places his hands on my skin, he sees her, feels her. Or he wishes he could. Wishes he hadn't asked me. Hadn't found me.
Her touch is unbreakable like some sort of spell. Curse. No hand other than hers will ever leave a mark on the house, on Max's heart.
He won't talk about her, but she lives in me. We are one. I love her.
Max has her locked away, has himself locked away. I see the surface and in it there is no love for my shell as there was for hers. My soul doesn't seem to exist, replaced by something else. I hover from room to room, to the beach following her steps in another body.
Closing my eyes, I see her, all the goodness of her, the beauty of her, and I feel her heart beating with mine, beneath my skin. I hear the music of her tango. Hear the dark music, and I see her in the night. I see her with Max in the night, Lucia looking at him with the same love, the same want as always. He returns the feeling, though I can't see him. Only feel him. Want him.
I have to fight for him, for his light, his love, the air beside her bed. I am not enough, he said so. He told her. Oh, but it wasn't her fault. It wasn't.
And I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't understand why I came. Why she thought she could make a difference. Dare to make him happy.
I'm not her. I'm not Julia.
~oOo~