Ik ga je iets vragen dat ik je niet mag vragen. Ook nu, tien lange verwarrende dagen na haar toezegging kan hij nog terug. De smog en het laatste schemerlicht hangen als een zware deken over de stad. Het grote raam omhoog geschoven. Zijn dunne pantalon plakt aan de gladde verf van de brede vensterbank. Hij houdt het ijskoude bierflesje tegen zijn voorhoofd. [...]
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The eyes are still black. Charcoal-like streaks cover his lower and upper eyelids. Mascara thickens the eye lashes that are no doubt already long and thick by themselves. “Remind me. Why did I agree to keep this make-up on?” The first words of the young man. He must be somewhere in his early twenties. “I’m small, coloured, and now I look gay.” [...] I have a thing for dark men. The past 18 months, the men in my life were typically caramel, mocha, or chocolate and barely twenty. Sometimes I adored them from afar. Sometimes we became lovers. But they were always, one way or another, unavailable. I wanted 2010 to be different. And in order to find something mutual, I was ready to move up. [...] |
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Copyright 2011 L.S. Harteveld. Design by AlfaBetty, code by Valentijn |
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