Last day

That morning, when I awoke, I felt as if I was sweating inside. Hot vapors swelled regularly in and out, freezing as tiny pearls of water on my skin. For a long time the morning unfolded around my bed, where I lay unable to control the inner changing of seasons.
I hesitate to say how long I stayed in that penumbra of cognizance, refusing to test my ability to live the day. It was only as I saw the palm of a hand separate the beads of rain on the window and his gray outline on the window that I dared wake up. I sat up, wet with cooling sweat, stung by the freezing morning air. Around me, the room took shape as a plain cubicle, the bluish white washed walls stared dully at me and light shone through starry hole sin the ceiling.
The lips belonging to the face touched the pane and flattened. I felt a dizzy spell of fever and raised only my hand to meet the solemn greeting. I waved the kisser in.
Reality hit me like a beating: my last day! I wanted to lie down. And yet my last morning. He ran into the room, locking the door behind him. In the green light that trickled in through the curtain from outside, he looked ghostly and young. The few feet of concrete that separated us seemed to stretch for miles and miles. I closed my eyes and fell backwards on to the pillow. He crossed the room, stepping over ripped out magazine pictures of beautiful colors, and the steel trunks and suitcases that littered the room. I put my hand over his on my cheek and looked up.
-I’m sick.
-I know.
-You’re leaving today.
-I know.
And that was that, he slid under the covers and held me until I was warm enough to move. Then, he got up, calmly took out clothes from an unclosed trunk and sat back down next to me. We were painting line after line of extraordinary plainness. Acting as serenely as on any other morning, moving poetically through waves of passion.
I sat up, looking into his eyes as he unbuttoned my shirt, slowly, ceremoniously. I stayed indolent while he slid it off my shoulders. We could have stayed there, swaying between beautiful half words for ever had it not been for my involuntary shiver. He drew my naked and damp body to his chest, ignoring the fact that my breast had stood bare between us only once before, and dressed me.
I do not remember the precise moment I started to cry, but steady violent spasms were shaking my body with uncontrollable sobs. He said nothing, he wiped my tears with his lips and lay me down to take off my blue batik pajamas.
Until now, love had been a series of loving actions. Loving notes. Loving words. Loving looks. I had never known the elation, the ethereal surge of emotions that now swelled in my heart. He echoed like a hologram against the background. The cavity in my chest filled with invigorating warmth, expanded to accomaodate another. I loved.