36- Our past life as flapper. Memorie 1.

A mirror suspended in the living room, framed by two swans that intertwined in a spiral, reflected my image. I had red lips, a small chin, and small lips, with brows that matched the color of my hair. The features of my face held hints of the beautiful and happy person I once was, but today I was a different woman. Suddenly, I felt an energy calling me from behind; I turned and found Paola. I remained silently observing her, and gently, as if in a dream, she approached me without saying a word. She was a man. His complexion was wheat-colored, with short brown hair, and a series of moles highlighted his face, outlining his thin lips and prominent chin. Paola couldn't shine either, but I knew that there was no purer light in the world than that of her heart. He looked at me somberly, expressionless, suppressing any emotion in his gaze. Glassy eyes pierced through my soul. He had lost his sparkle, was tired; life had marked him with signs of weariness alongside his years lived.". 

"My lips trembled a little as I watched her, and as if I already had the knowledge planted in my mind, I understood that the face I was staring at was incredibly beautiful, the most beautiful I could have ever seen. She was so beautiful. I loved her so much, and it was so difficult to look at her like that, fixed in the body of that man, knowing who she was and what she meant to me. If I could make her understand how painful it was to be without her love, I could stay in that life and give her all the love I couldn't give her now. When I thought that this man was Paola, a wave of tenderness hit my chest, and I looked at him with a caress from my eyes. He wore a gray suit and a tie, a leather briefcase. He worked in an office. Doctor? Banker? I don't know, but that job had given a certain age to his soul; I knew it. However, I observed him with the same tenderness as the first time. What I remember the most was his gaze… it was his eyes. The same ones that burned in my memory like an old, eternal fire. It was Paola's gaze; there couldn't be two alike in this world. My name was Priscila. The name easily came to my mind. And I was in Rome. I looked out the window, and the city's traffic made me realize that I was in Rome; the knowledge simply struck me, and I knew it.

When we searched the internet for my second regression, we found no clues. The streets and cars had an aura of the 19th century. That dated back many years before, along with the yellow dress I wore, perfectly tailored, and a typewriter. It was all we had. The doctor didn't trust it and thought that perhaps Paola existed and was important in my past, so we tried one last time, and that would be the definitive one. I needed to find the reason why we weren't together."

I used to work in that place, and my little hat with a black mesh covered part of my cheek. She stared at me intently, and I returned her gaze through the black mesh that framed my face. Paola was dressed in the flapper fashion of the 1920s; her satin-colored dress had shoulder pads that hung in strips over her arms. Then I recalled her in my memory and knew that we had loved each other many nights before. However, I didn't want to feel her ever again; I wanted to forget her name and pretend that I didn’t care. That’s why I kept arranging the glasses and bottles of whiskey without looking up. She would never be with me again; I just knew it because I felt hers even without being completely so, without being so for eternity, only in essence. I watched her toned arms out of the corner of my eye and the way she took her drink in a manner that bordered on the morbid; I desired her, I desired her mouth. Did she desire me in the same way? 

She was cleaning a glass with a cloth over and over again, examining how she brought the drink to her lips. When I approached her to take away the empty glass, I barely lifted my gaze more than necessary to grab it. She took my wrist and squeezed it tightly. I could feel all the emotions that were rooted within me, and once again I felt dizzy from the emotions I had in that life, in addition to those I already had in my current life.

\- "He will never come in. He usually just looks through the window for hours until the bar closes. I can’t keep forcing the door to keep it open," she reproached me coldly. What did she mean by that? I wanted to understand her. - "My fingers have cramped and my legs cry for mercy," she whispered in a thread of a voice. The sound of her voice quickened my heart with every word she spoke to me. Each time she addressed me, I fell more in love with her. Was it because I liked her voice in that life? Or was it because I liked that she was paying attention to me? Then I realized that Paola used to ignore me, and it was the first time in a long time that she spoke to me. She looked at me intently, and I lowered my gaze, feeling her breath heavy with stale alcohol. A tremendous desire that arose from my subconscious left me breathless and without any strength to endure her hand wrapping around my wrist. Feeling her touch was suddenly irrational and beautiful, like filling a pond with fireflies in the middle of some forest. Unexpected and of astonishing beauty. My whole skin glowed next to hers upon our contact. I looked at her, perplexed, my heart stopping at the sight of the way her hand glimmered, and where she touched me, it seemed my blood flowed, turning into a fluorescent and golden river. I looked at her and said goodbye, a silent goodbye, a goodbye I didn’t pronounce but she understood.