It Was Like Feeling Life on My Lips

I was thirteen and my ignorance was that of a child. I had started playing the guitar a short time before and began to receive classes at the School of Music of my town. The first day, during the first lesson of musical theory, I fell in love with her. Her hair was blond, as blond as I had ever imagined. Her skin was white, almost as light as snow. But her eyes were deep, and made me feel as if I were falling into an abyss that had no end. And her smell, her smell still lives in my memory.
She probably was about thirty then, so that love was one of those that are considered impossible. Days passed and I felt that, despite the difference in age, she looked at me not how the teachers do to their students. However, there was never anything between us that was not distance. The course ended. And I did not see her again.

But ten years have passed and chance has acted. We met on the street. We drank coffee and kissed. It was like feeling life on my lips. I've never felt so vulnerable. So blissfully vulnerable. And passion did the rest. We fucked. We fucked over and over again until reality appeared again and our ways parted. A story that, without being of love, is one of passion and reality. Of scents, tears and flavors.