— On a night like many, in which snowflakes fell rain-like along the windows of Ellie’s house, I fell into a sudden melancholy. On the other side of the phone, my friend Odette ‐ a tall girl, as beautiful as the sun, a Parisian model with long blonde hair and blue crystals in place of eyes, in all her feminine beauty and cleverness of soul ‐ took on a serious tone in the middle of the conversation. Which was unusual, knowing her childish spirit and the mischief that surrounded her. And I, sitting on the big bed with coffee-brown covers, torn at the edges and extremities in all its comforting being, sat there, bending forward to carefully paint my toenails with a frustrated sigh. Her constant talking was veering towards a topic I didn’t particularly like. Her voice was as flirtatious as that of a fox intent on seducing you, but her words were like sharp blades in the delicacy of my heart.

"Word has it that Ellie keeps saying that what happened between you two was just casual. A way to survive the unsurvivable." And I, reflected for a moment. I remained staring into space for a few moments, with my fingers tightly gripping the nail polish bottle and my eyes shining with silent suffering. After all, fear was not part of her person. She had expressed to me over and over again her desire and will not to grow attached to me, with the hope that one day she could fall in love like I had. Hers was a battle against herself, and she feared that one day, if a feeling were to form, she would have duties towards me. A vision that I, however, did not share. Her presence was not the result of a duty, but rather of a desire long yearned for. For too many years. Ellie’s choices towards me only occurred when she needed a way to vent. She desired me, but nevertheless, she didn’t truly choose me. Hers was an oppressive desire in which I felt trapped, because the desire to make her happy was stronger than the respect I had for myself and my person. I realized I was something fleeting and that, alas, I was living a half-story, lived only from one side, while on the other there was the need to cling to something in order to survive without truly committing.

Odette seemed to pause for a moment. Maybe my silence had saddened her in particular. Maybe worried, I dare say. Then, I allowed myself to reply to make her understand that I was reflecting on her words, too truthful to be swallowed easily.

"No attachment. That’s what Ellie told me several times. She doesn’t carry the blame for my distress."

I then got up from the bed so I could stand in front of it and then take off the clothes that seemed to be suffocating me. I put on comfortable pajamas, then lay on my side at the end of the drying process of the nail polish. The conversation lasted about an hour, just enough time to wait for Ellie to return home, recently out on patrol with Tommy and Joel. And when I heard the house keys turn quietly, I instinctively half-closed my eyes, tired of waiting. I turned my back to her and noticed how lazily she approached me, barefoot, after taking off her work boots. She lay down next to me, planting a kiss on my cheek as if it were routine. She then stroked my shoulder, lying back on her back, with a distressed sigh, probably understanding my mood as if it were her own diary, as if she knew me and could read me more than anyone else. Even though there was no real bond tying us together, Ellie has always been someone capable of picking up on every little change in a person. From body signals that often acted as a bridge to my thoughts — since I was unable to express them truly in words — to the fleeting glances I gave her without expecting a real response. Her fingers began pressing on her tired eyes, moving down to her freckled nose, in a weary sigh:

"I was late again today. I’m sorry."

And I held my breath as if breathing hurt me or was not owed to me. The chest that rose heavily, the tired eyes. I bit my lips to not give space to my thoughts. And Ellie seemed to realize that there was no longer any justification for her actions.