the white leather armchair

Once upon a time there was a white leather armchair in one corner of a living room of a small student apartment, where Mr. and Mrs. Román spent their time each day before and after school.

One night he happened to end sat in the white leather armchair after letting his being interact with pink elephants. On board of an empty and transparent Air India Boeing 777, together with the captain and Mr. and Mrs. Román, they traveled across Asia, crossing the Himalayas, between India and Nepal, above the Pokhara Lake towards Kathmandu. Cabin depressurization. Free fall. Symbiosis.

When Mr. a Mrs. Román left, in search of their dreams, nothing was left behind. Only an empty student apartment with the white leather armchair in one corner of the living room. Rumor has it that the white armchair was waiting for him. He found it there before a farewell party, surrounded by silence. He dived again into its embrace. It was his.

She gave him a ride home after the party. She sat on the white leather armchair in the corner of a small bedroom in a big house on the outskirts. He fell for her shy smile. He fell for her smooth breath. He fell for the shine on her eyes. Looking at her, sitting on the white leather armchair, he fell for her. But he never said.

He loved her later, but never shared with anyone the tickling. Not even her. Never shared that when he saw her comfortably sat on the white leather armchair he went back to Asia, to the Himalayas, to India and Nepal, to the Pokhara Lake and Kathmandu. He flew again. But not alone, she was by her side. They fell together. For the first time, he felt love. But he never said. Maybe he did not know.

Time passed and they missed each other. Crossroads, u-turns, and no outlets. He could still see her sat on the white leather armchair. White leather armchair that moved once, twice, thrice. White leather armchair that embraced other people. White leather armchair that made him forget. White leather armchair that went away, forever.

But forevers are not, and one day, when he had already said goodbye, the white leather armchair was back in the corner of a small bedroom in a small house, his. And every night, before falling sleep, he closed his eyes and wished she was there, sat on the empty white leather armchair...


El Chukustako Tiroleiro (¡ajua!) said...

Me costó un poco entender quién era quién y lo tuve que leer dos veces, pero el cuento en sí está maravilloso. Muchas gracias por compartirlo, Jorgillo.

¿Qué pasa, cuando vienes a por unas tapas?

Abejilla said...

I still dream about that beautiful chair...thanks


Anonymous said...

A mi tambien me costó de entender, creo que lo he entendido mejor...

quizás sea un buen refugio, en todo caso es bonito...y mucha suerte!!..que no deje de brillar el sol ;-D