Wake up

Knowing that you were no longer sleeping hit you like a sledgehammer in the head.

The night before passed between tears and with your heart clenched in your chest. You asked her countless times if you had hurt her; she denied it again and again.

The alarm, once part of your dream, was turned off by your finger.

Maybe getting up early today wasn't the best idea; maybe a good night's sleep would have been better.

Your arm hung over the edge of the bed, and with one eye awake, you stared at her.

Hunched over in her capsule, her back to you, covered up as if nothing had happened yesterday.

You had neither the desire nor the mental energy to tell her “come, let's go to the roof”, but you did it anyway, in a dry-throated voice.

And no matter how much she wanted to do the opposite, she had **** but to follow you.

The rooftop, above two stories, was relatively small, but with a fairly wide view of the city. The fence wasn't high enough to prevent someone from falling if they tripped, so you both didn't get too close to the edge and waited, sitting, for that modest fence to be your skyline.

This cold air is not good for you. Nothing here is good for you, why are you here in the first place?

That white cat on the neighbor's roof bathes himself. He probably doesn't want to be here either, but his eagerness to lick makes him accidentally join you.

The colors of the night are extinguished. Once again, the world is saved from eternal darkness. Whites, pinks and oranges fulfill the promise of the future we all bet on.

Eyes, eyes. Looks, and looks. You've become so intoxicated by her appearance that now that glow on the horizon seems... boring.

The sunrise, what did you expect?

You almost profane the silence with a comment about how this shit is the same every day and about how disappointed you were that the world had not ended today. But you think that perhaps silence holds you both closer than dialogue.

And the sun, if it could see you, would probably ask you why she is crying.

You would respond that you would like to know nothing more than that. You would shout that you want to make her happy, and at the same time…

The very star itself might claim or advise you but you would pay no attention to it. Only a fool would dare to be enlightened by the sun.

Today is just another Saturday and she doesn't even deign to make a sound as the tears cascade down her cheeks. Her breathing doesn't even flinch; she remains unmoved by her own emotions.

Perhaps she dedicates her tears to yesterday; not forgotten, but already irretrievably lost.

A sunrise is a great funeral. It's pretty, at least.

Is it so bad to be here, next to her? Bad enough for her to cry?

(Why does it hurt so much to try to understand her?)

You put your arm around her back. What have you got to lose?

She comes closer and hugs you. Her head on your chest, her arms around your waist and her gaze fixed on the horizon.

"It's beautiful," she says, "Thank you, thank you for bringing me here. Thank you."

(Could it be that she already understood that beauty hurts us?)

"I won't cry anymore, I promise." She says, wiping her tears.

You spent the rest of the day without speaking to each other. But silence, after all, has so many ways of saying things....

[End of Act 1]