Humans logo

Venice

Story of a First Date

By Elena Dall'AgnesePublished 6 years ago 3 min read
Like
photo crephoto credit: @photography_by_lorenzo

Photo credit: @photography_by_lorenzo

I don't remember a lot about that night, everything is so confused and blurred.

The images are out of focus and wobbly, I quickly have a look all around myself. I'm feeling lost—I am lost.

The sky is getting darker, the street lights are turning on and their shine is reflecting on the windows' houses creating a beam of light that wraps us.

We keep walkingmy body is getting heavy over my unsteady legs, that's unusual.

Although I wasn't extremely sober, I clearly remember one episode.

I'm sitting on the edge of the step at the top, my gaze is lost somewhere between the waves that are crashing on the stairs underneath us, while the thoughts in my head are climbing on top of each other without any logical connection.

I got back to reality only when I spill some of the glass' contents over the floor, typical.

He says a joke about how clumsy I am, in fact this already happened today.

I genuinely laugh covering my mouth with my right hand while he's smiling, shaking his head with a fake disappointed look on his face.

I feel the stomach closing in a knot and all of a sudden I can't even swallow my own saliva.

And again, my thoughts were chasing each other in a much faster way than before. Mostly, I was asking myself the meaning of that involuntary reaction.

For the first time ever, I'm not overthinking about it but I'm ignoring it, moving on. It's nothing like me.

Thinking about it now, it had a meaning, I would say even a quite clear one—my disinterest was a silent but obvious refusal of what was happening. Weird thing, I didn't feel the deep desire of running away from the situation. Extremely unusual.

It's like when you start feeling the suspense during an horror film and you want to cover your eyes so you can't see if something bad happens, but at the same time you leave some space between your fingers because you don't want to miss a single second of that scene.

At that time I didn't reflect on it enough, actually I didn't at all, but self-analysis is important to me and now I ask myself: Why do we standstill in front of potentially dangerous situations for ourselves, and yet, we jealously preserve the beautiful sensation of doubting that maybe, for once, everything will be alright?

We're always stuck in the middle, between two antipodes while we try to convince ourselves that despite our past, not everyone is the same and simultaneously we hope it won't work from the beginning so we don't have to cross old bridges again, avoiding the effort of putting our pieces back together after a break-up.

We're sitting on a cold, marble bench in front of the lagoon and I'm listening to him, talking about a few struggles he had to go through so far. I feel chills running down my back and I hope he can't see my trembling hands in the dark.

A tiny light beam makes its way between us, I look at him in the eyes and I get that weird sensation like falling into a void when you dream, even though they are anything but empty.

That inevitable sense of emotional affinity pervades me; the kind of feeling you have when you meet someone that walked your same path and knows how hard it is to keep going on when everything feels wrong.

I try to suffocate the desire to stand up and hug him, it's unbelievable how stupid I feel for letting this touch me and being so vulnerable. I don't feel comfortable.

We start walking to the train station, it's 11 PM already and no one's around.

We're wondering about with no defined way back.

I clearly feel the strain of walking for a whole day, he notices it, slows down and takes my hand that looks so small inside his. I spontaneously smile, trying to hide my happiness until I see him smiling back at me.

The sky is so clear I can count the stars, I stop for a few seconds admiring the beauty and the warmth every one of them radiates.I take a look back at the street, he's a few steps forward and I ask myself how far we'll ever go... if it will be high enough to touch these beautiful stars.
literature
Like

About the Creator

Elena Dall'Agnese

20. Student, pseudo-writer and dreamer.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.