Sparkle

The Devil made his habitual visit last night, and in the blink of an eye I was holding my poker cards again—awful hand as usual.

“Why is the reason we always play the same game?” He stared at me with inquisitive look while moved his fingertips gently over his cards facing down on the board. “The same game you can’t win,” he added.

“You know that most of the times love means suffering and sacrifice,” I answered evading his eyes.

“Yes, I do. Then, why not to surrender to inevitable force of destiny? No one will blame you for quitting, because everybody experiences the same.”

“Because I like to bet.”

“Bet in a circumstance where only doubt prevails?” His words echoed in my mind and made me remember how well he knows me, more than personal friends or relatives, with the precision of a mirror reflecting my image. “Can you bet blindly?” He spoke like whispering directly to my soul as he came closer to me displaying a malicious smile.

“It could it be—” I answered with trembling voice but regained my confidence after in brief pause where I recalled my entire existence as a dying man watches the movie of his entire life at the threshold of death,“ because that tinny moment when love means glory, worths enough to sacrifice your entire lifetime.”

“Why are so sure if you haven’t reached the end of your life?” He asked intrigued by my answer.

Then my mind fell trapped, lost in the emptiness with no place to wander to. After a depth breath my being was invaded by an eloquent silence that conduced me to an unavoidable meeting with my heart. The words flew out from the inner of my soul like wild birds seeking to reach freedom.

“Because that moment is the only one that death will not be able to snatch away from me.”

The devil stared at me motionless, petrified, “very well, so be it.”

He took his cards and when was ready to show his hand I opened my eyes fading the black and revealing my room’s ceiling. As I tried to control my fast breathing, my mind cycled the same old question over and over. But it doesn´t matter anymore, because as long the sun has the power to shine through my window, it will remember me the sparkle of your eyes—beautiful eyes.

M. Ch. Landa

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