When I was riding my bus home after work, she walked behind me and sat down right in front of me. It was her. Gabriela. Flesh and Blood. Her physicality. As I imagined her. I have never seen this young girl before. She sits there and has no idea that she looks exactly like the protagonist of my novel. It is haunting. My heart beats so fast, I can barely breathe. I’m staring, back and forth. I imagine her voice. I want to hear it. Would it disrupt the projection?
It is incredible. An uneventful Wednesday and then this earthquake of emotions happens. The writer’s dream. An eerie encounter. The more I looked at her, gazing at her face, the more I absorbed her energy. She was a sad girl. Something was the matter. There was something old and fragile about her eyes. She was staring ahead and sometimes returned my glances.
The more I focused on her the more I could sense her emotional similarities with Gabriela. I just wanted to give her a hug and tell her that everything would be all right. Her eyes had a depth that you don’t see very often, one lazy eye, mesmerising, and her entire allure looked like my words had created her. There is no vanity involved in this statement, this was an encounter, meeting a girl as real as you and me, and that is the point.
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