The woman of other.

I am the woman of other.

I see you for the first time in two years: i've looked at you before, even yesterday, even this morning, but only now i see you: or only now i opened my eyes and i stare confused at you. I observ you and i'm trying to predict your finger's moves, your gestures and the tilts of your head. I look at you like you're truly something new. Like i would look at someone new. Like i would look at a man that i've never met before but who has the exactly same face as you. Cauze you look like yourself but you're somebodyelse.

You talk like yourself, with your voice and your verbal tics but i hear somebodyelse, because everything you say is foreign: i don't recognize the man inside. Have you always had those gestures? Have you always talked like that? Are you really like that?

Because we spend the last two years of our life together but maybe we lived it less, almost not at all. I realize now that i don't know what you're dreaming about, what you wish or what you plan. I realize that i know exactly how much salt you want in your food, but i don't know what kind of new food would you really-really like to try. I tell you that i love you, ..but do i?

I mean, after all, what is love? Am i capable even to give a definition - my own definition?

I am afraid to ask you such stupid question - such "childish" question - we discussed so much serious things that this question would be like a nut in the wall.

But only God knows how much i would like to recognize your voice next time you call me

...next time when you call my name.