Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Quelling questions


She always knew falling in love with a matador would be as dangerous as his occupation. Love is a losing game for many, or so she had heard. Only that, one has already won when they decide to fight a savage bull; unlike her blurry consortium with the matador, the ending of which was uncertain. She refrained from asking him if he loved her, if he missed her. She reveled in his slight presence when he was around. She spiraled in his heavy longing when he was away (she couldn’t tell where for she never asked). She did not want to inflict him with any more misgivings than he already suffered, about his job and by the virtue of his job, his life. She did not subject him to all those mundane inquiries of her heart and these inquiries (does he watch when I leave the room?) would quietly dissolve in her submitting heart. At night she would rest the remainder of her inquiries (can he name the song of my life?) in his scars and sleep with flickering eyes. The resignation was only temporary just like the vacuous gaze he conferred upon her when she smiled at him.

During days, an unfamiliar frown would appear on her forehead as she tried to reckon the reasons for his choices. Why did he fight bulls? Why did he never hold her face when he kissed her? Why did he never notice her cry when they made love? She would catch herself feeling jealous of the bull whose eyes he did look into. Who’s head he did hold tightly and before who he did present himself with the barest of gumption. She had not seen him glancing sideways at another woman. She hated that unlike other women she could not utilize that consolation. She hated when he told her “whatever you liked” (should I wear the red dress?). She needed him to care for her heart or break it, not just keep it suspended in passive concurrence. She knew that matadors had to keep their composure while the bull’s sanity teeters. She wondered how it would be to instigate the matador’s temper for a change. What if she asked him if he missed her while he fought the bulls? If he wanted to deploy his belligerent vulnerability to her like she was ready to charge towards him. If he wanted to dancingly yield himself to her, like he did to the bull.

Art - Matador Luis Miguel Dominguin, pencil on paper

Artiste – Pablo Picaso

url - here

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