For L.

Eternity happened to me in a gloomy night some years ago. I was there, She was there, in a cozy party. Nothing was exchanged between us, other than usual small talk meant to break the barriers of solitude. I can't remember what she was wearing or to which music she danced or what scent her perfume was. Actually, there is nothing earthly capable of reminding me of her. Her name is all I have. I probably wouldn't recognize her if someday we come across by the vagaries of fate. It all keeps things less complicated and yet mysterious. It keeps her virgin; virgin from the penetration of truth. downgrading her to reality is the last thing I want to do. I came to know women through her. To me, she represents everything feminine. She is the reincarnation of my flame, my obscure object of desire, the orgy of my longings. Through the years, she's been stripped away of all the carnal attachments, I forgot her face, her figure, her curves and her voice. Not that I forgot her for every woman I meet reminds me of a perfection, of a being I always idolized and idealized, whose name I never cease to murmur: Leila.