Secret Whispers
Alessio Fabbri

May or may this not be the last chance
For the pretty white bird to sing along
Those who listen shall know
That a song must be sang

Let the river walk this way
Witness of a thousand tears
Painting doodles in the fields
Where the hearts have no such fears

Over the sky, no clouds to be seen
And the stars can’t stand to lose their place
Among the ancient threats of men
Never falling out of grace

There is no shame for the bees
To bow and curtsy to the majesty of this
And colours flash through blurry trees
When the parade appears to please

Solitude among the wildflowers
A thousand petals dance together
Till the moon presents no mercy
Wishing this could last forever

The cheerful note of melancholic past
Flashes through the bones and blood of a restless soul
That no more pain wants to bear
And then as high, wishes to have flown

Below there, it’s under the cork tree
That the golden wires fall down to the ground
By unaware people and unwilling smiles
A message of love seeks to be found

CONSTANCE PART 3 - FOG RINGS AND CLARITY

Four years changed and I felt the brunt of none of it. By then my dreams had become plainer as imagination turned its hand to more grown-up matters. Nevertheless my steps towards the twenty year milestone were still as timid as they'd ever been. Not without Constance. She'd been there before, she had to be there again. And then, in the shade of dusk, she stood before me once more. Once more.

            She turned away. She'd changed her hair again: dyed it blonde, let it grow out. I sighed and touched her shoulder. Her cotton jumper felt damp. I moved around her, searching for a smile. Her lips twitched and quivered. Before I could catch her gaze, she hurried forward. I could not fathom where she was going: we were surrounded by a ring of fog.

CONSTANCE PART 2 - STOCKINGS AND PATIENCE

   The slightest rustle of nylon unfolding: a very humble sound to drift into. Not to mention rather promising to a lustful teenage boy. I yielded to a glance at her thigh.

            Oh yes, she had certainly changed with the times; renewed herself, if you will. She could well have been anyone else if it wasn't for her angular chin, her pert little nose. The long brown ringlets had me fooled at first but I recognised the sparkle in those rolling eyes. We were old friends in new roles. For one afternoon in my sixteenth year, the woman of my dreams had become my lover. If only I could remember what had led to this very contented moment.

            My mind was completely blank. All I knew was that I was now truly a man and that a true man would not let a woman like her leave again. She told me she had to: I was only her four o'clock, after all. Naively I thought I was more. I watched dumbly as she draped her red leather coat across her shoulders; I merely nodded as she fastened the straps on her jewelled shoes. I kept commanding myself to stand up, to reach out for her hand but every moment after I did nothing. At last she collected her money and made for the door. At last I found my voice.

CONSTANCE PART 1 - BISCUITS AND ELEGANCE

  Dreams. I've never paid much heed to them. The kind I usually have are loud and screechy things, splashed with colours so bright they're obnoxious. And don't get me started on the experiences of my earlier, more tender years.

            Sleep was more of a place back then; a gaping cave mouth with a heaving breeze leading in. The things I found there weren't so much nightmares but wild imaginings dressed in formal clothing. Nothing is so paralysing than the sight of the usual going terribly wrong. On waking though, there was always a sense of relief as my eyes adjusted to not just the immediate surroundings but to the comforting knowledge that what was now happening was actually happening. Here the horrors were much larger but could always be hidden from, from behind a warm duvet and five extra minutes lie-in.

            But then, as I was drawn in one gentle night, I suddenly found myself...elsewhere. 'Elsewhere' looked nothing like the other dreams. It was the finest living room I'd ever seen. So many facets and ornaments of 1920s elegance. How I admired that period; its art, its colour. Such a fresh-faced era. But the room was a blurry nothing, a background fading in and out of focus. My focus was busily set on the sight sitting so primly before me.