Love!
I’ve never felt it before, but I knew it the moment I set foot . . . I set my head . . . I landed inside the truck with the man inside it. And what a man! He is everything I have dreamt of, ever, and I . . .
In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever dreamt of a man in my life. I remember my dreams quite vividly, and I’m quite sure that men, in this context, never appeared in them. But this man!
What am I thinking? What happened? I’m not used to . . . I’m not supposed to . . . my God, what a feeling! How did it happen? I remember myself rolling, then flying in the air, then going through something, like glass, but somehow in gaseous form, landing on something soft, then there was a man, and then there was a glow. My mind was like a neon bulb, bathing in short pulses on a low frequency, humming along the 50 hertz of the power supply. Shining, lighting-up, glowing. It took me some time to understand that this was love, but no time at all to know who it was I was loving. He was like . . .
There must be a logical explanation to all this.
I want so much to feel that glow again.
He was like . . . I can’t even remember the colour of his wonderful, wonderful eyes. I can’t remember what they looked like. What he looked like. I just remember that . . .
I rolled and rolled, after he threw me away, until I stopped on something that I suspect is an overturned trashcan. It doesn’t smell good. Luckily, my eyes are turned the right way, south and up, up Dizengoff Street, almost straight to the peak of the mountain. I can see the truck — it’s a fire truck, I hadn’t noticed that before — driving away from me. I want to shout, to ask the man to come back, but he won’t. I know that. I also know that he felt something for me, that there’s some kind of unique connection between us. There must be. I think . . . I think I am destined to bring him back.
The truck is becoming hazy now — or am I crying? Are those tears, or is there something, like a cheap special effect, blurring everything? If these are indeed tears, why am I seeing the rest of the street sharp and without distortion?
Note to self: Check this MP3 recording for the voice of the man. In the time it’ll take us to meet again, it will be the only memory of him that I have.
Erase the rest of this recording.
There’s a rumble. Another building coming down. Things roll down the slope. Something hits me, and I fly. Down the hill, away from my man. Round and round and round we go.