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Faruk Buzhala

Traces

One autumn day, a man about 60-years-old was walking alone around the beach. The waves of the sea slowly stroked the seashore, gently covering the sand with its foam and dragging lightly behind, carrying his footsteps to the sea. How he liked the swooshing and sounds that the waves created of the troubled sea. He walked slowly around the seashore lost someplace in the thoughts of his distant past. The wind ruffled his gray hair and traversed his waning body. As he wandered in thoughts, a female voice called him and brought him back. It seemed as if he was hearing things, and that his mind was playing with him, but again he heard the same voice calling out his name. He turned his head toward the voice, where he saw a girl sitting in the sand. The wind carried her long hair, revealing her beautiful face smiling at him from the distance. He gazed and knew her well.

“Agna?” He called out to make sure she was the one he was thinking of.

“Rocky!” she retorted standing up; her beautiful body revealing. She donned a beach dress as wind coated against her beautiful body lines.Confused and in disbelief, he approached her, not taking his eyes off of her. He looked at her closely and asked, “are you Agna or is my mind fooling me?!”

“It is me,” Agna replied.

 As they gazed face-to-face, Rocky reached out to her face and touched it with his index finger, gently caressing her cheek, as if trying to convince himself that the touch was real. Tears welled his eyes as he pondered upon her beautiful, yet sad face. Tear-eyed, he smiled at her somberly. Even Agna gently smiled back, as if her lips lamented saying, “I’ve been waiting for you Rocky. All this time, I’ve waited here.”

Her words shook Rocky, and troubled he tried to find words as his lips quivered, he said in a trembling voice, “I didn’t know this, Agna. Please, forgive me!”

 For a while in silence, they stared without moving eyes of each other, until Rocky said, “You haven’t changed at all, Agna,” once again reaching out to caress her hair. Yet this time, his hand reached emptiness midair, as her image dissolved out of sight. For a moment, he remained stunned by this appeared illusion, then instinctively turned his hand to his face and touched it. As he let his hand lightly touch his cheek, he felt his fingers come across his wrinkled face. Dazed he dropped his shoulders and continued his walk across the seashore. He turned his head once again towards her image, thinking that she was still there. But, no, it had suddenly dissolved, remaining like an indelible memory in his mind. Walking lost in reminiscence, he no longer felt the waves splashing upon his feet and foamy waves hiding his traces in tow within the deep and troubled sea.

 

                                          Translated from albanian: Besa Kosova

 

 

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Benedicta Boamah
Benedicta Boamah

A reminiscence of walking lost…. An indelible mind! I like Traces, nicely typed and written.