Was the only in which i could dive my thoughts in the past, but i had still need of that that smoky atmposphere that you only could create with your cigarettes, so i have bought a box of incense to dive myself in that cloud of impalpable sensation of you.
I have take a look to that picture that i had still in my desk drawer, i don’t know how many times: each time it was i have take it from the frame that i pulled out from that drawer, and i have continued said to me: “don’t open it”, but each day it was the same story. I was in front of of the void, to think what do, enveloped by that smoky cloud, and each time, at end i opened that drawer, to take your picture, and each time i was in front your face.
I was drinking my daily cup of almost cold coffee, when the telephone on the desk have made shake everything with his croaking ringtone, and i have poured some coffee drops on your picture, while that ringtone still was making shake the desk, i was searching for clean everything, but, by now the damnage have done.
Cursing him, I picked up the phone, always answering the same way, but this time I had forgotten the title of my office, and after a mutter I said: “… Investigations, what can I do for you?” having your spotted picture in front, and searching for some kleenex that naturally i haven’t found, absently i was listening to the voice from the other side who seemed really worry, while i was looking for to clean your picture with one of the many sheet of papers scattered on the desk.
But i have stopped to clean it, when i recognized the voice of the motel receptionist in which you had decided to stay, but when i have heard the tone of his voice so strange, my heart have jumped in throat, and i have asked what have happened, i have hold back the breathe.
” Tonight he haven’t comeback”.
There was a long moment of silence from both side part.
“Daria? Are you there?!” The receptionist knew i was there: he could hear my low breathe, but he wanted know if i was ok, and he have repeated that question at least twice, and just when he was about to ask for the third time, i have replied with a thread of voice: “Yes, i’m here!”.
I have could not talk. I was shocked. I had still your spotted picture in hand.
The investigation office was mine, and i had a couple of reliable men, and even them were disappears: i haven’t notice it till that moment. Usually they arrived before me. They were who prepare my coffee, but when i arrived after my salute, i never their replied, when i was arrive immediately i closed the door, and hardly ever i heard their reply, and that morning i was so dazed more than ever, and i have not noticed their absence.
With the telephone handset still lean on my ear, i got up from my chair and i went to check outside my office, and the door of their office was open, and i could see their desks messed up more than mine, but i didn’t care of it: mine it was even more worse.
The receptionist was still in awaiting for my reply, and only comeback in my/our office, very slowly i have closed the door behind my shoulders, and throwing away the air from the lungs, i have realized that he was still waiting for my reply, and with an “Excuse me…. Thank you” i have closed the communication.
Bringing back the telephone handset, i have cameback to the desk, and i have resumed once againt the only your picture that you had granted me to hold, by now spotted by that cold coffee, and looking at you in those sleepy eyes, i have asked you: “Where are you?”, hoping that you could give me a reply.”
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