He was drunk when he finally came. His bed was already made, of course. HE was already sleeping. On his back, the right leg crossed over the left one. The right hand faced upward laying on his forehead. The fingers slightly bend. Just a little. The other hand was resting on his belly. His chest where rising up and down rhythmically. He was breathing deeply. She liked listening to his steady breathing. The fire was keeping them warm. The wood was just glowing. No blazing flames. It was precious. The candle next to the hand carved wooden ashtray and one of her countless books in her hands.
He was drunk when he finally came home. Blustering. Rumbling. Falling into his made bed. Crawling under the blanket. Pulling the blanket wide over his head. No words got spoken. He was facing the wall. She had to smile. Time passed by. Not much. Half a page. Maybe. Than. Out of a sudden he turned around. Sticking his head out of the thick blankets.
'Faith?' He looked over to her. Out of his dark, almost back eyes. The white part starts to turn yellow. 'Faith?' She looked back at him. Already after the first time. Smiling. Again interrupted. She got use to it. Was is already. Kind of even liked it. 'Faith?' Just to make sure he has her full attention. 'Faith? You, me and Babba, ya? You, me and Babba, here, okay!' They looked each other into their eyes. Long. Intense. To see truly the other. His eyes, a mix of joy, hope, believe, trust and confidence, combined with this deep rooted truth his words were carrying. They were still looking at each other. Her whole body got electrified by this, his words. But HE wasn't speaking them. Kind of it was like HE was speaking them. This words were like a manifestation of the now. A manifestation for the ever. Spoken with and for eternity. They were still looking at each other.
Like she is watching a movie on repeat. No. Not a full movie. Just one scene. Over and over again. Him laying there. Turning around. Speaking those words. Over and over again. Like an imprint.
'Yes, Bam.'
She replied. Wishing. From the bottom of her heart that this, in his dark black eyes rooting truth will manifest. It was his dream. Not HIS dream. But a dream he and she shared.
But there was this sadness. Deep rooting also. From the bottom of her heart. That this life, this dream won't come true. There was a shadow. That she can't be part of it, as much as she wished for it. It's HIS journey. Babbas journey. His bastion against a world that's so much out of balance. But there was the truth, that told her, that he will succeed. Nothing else matters. His happiness.
She couldn't see, if she will become part of it – again.