Lucy met Enzo at a party the first time. They had arrived at the same time at the entrance door, and had looked into one another’s eyes. They had started talking and soon discovered they had a special connection and shared the same Dream. Afterwards Enzo had sent Lucy his writings, and she had done the same with him. And they had met again two weeks later, in a bright sunny place. And there Lucy had started telling her life to Enzo who listened to her as no one else had. He asked her questions nobody had asked her, and seemed to take an interest in everything she said. Even the slightest mundanity, he listened with great attention, seemed to give it a new depth. Lucy was truly surprised by him. And she was starting to become truly curious. Even if she could not truly give in to that curiosity, as she had a boyfriend, and also this boy scared her a bit to say the truth. He was too intense, and he reminded her of a bad experience of the past. So she did nothing, and waited. Enzo continued to write her and contact her, and each time one part of Lucy’s heart leaped. But she immediately refrained these leaps. It was definitely not a good idea, not the good thing, to become interested in him. And yet.
They met again, and again. Once per week in average, and for around one hour, so not very long times, but the impression was lasting.
Until when Enzo started writing her in a poetic way, asking her out. That brought warmth to Lucy’s heart and she could not refrain herself from replying to him in an equally lyrical way, and she was very surprised to notice how natural it felt. She usually wrote to her friends in a normal, dry way, but with Enzo it was different. He somehow awakened her lust for writing, and his words felt strangely caressing. And so they met again, this time in the city centre. Again Lucy tried to raise up her guards. She was tired after an intense week of studies. She was wary of this strange boy. Enzo started asking her question after question. He listened to her with great care, almost with tenderness, always looking into her gaze. He asked her about the first stories she had written and even said he would have loved to read them if he could understand her native tongue. That brought a great stirring to Lucy’s heart. Why was this boy so deeply caressing to her. He definitely was not like the boy in the bad experience of her past. And yet, he scared her. Lucy suddenly panicked. Perhaps Enzo wanted to know everything about her because he wanted to use her as a character for his novel. Yes that explained everything. But he looked into her eyes and quietly, almost amorously, said of course not, he was truly interested in knowing her. And then Lucy almost felt as if Enzo had taken her hand and had caressed or kissed it, so tender had been his words. She continued to look in his eyes, and she felt her own face brightening. She did not think Enzo very handsome at first, but now, suddenly, he was becoming the most beautiful person she had ever seen. His so intense eyes were caressing her, and all his face expressed his earnestness, his purity, and the right poetry of his heart for her. Suddenly Lucy felt the deepest longing to be with him, to forget about everything else. But no, no how could she, her boyfriend, her studies, her family, her home country. She suddenly panicked, started suffocating, asked Enzo if they could go out. They did and started walking in the street. She confided to him she was afraid by his intensity. Slowly, she quieted again, and as they climbed the stairs toward her house, she retrieved the connection with him. He was again asking her questions and listening with the deepest compassion. Lucy felt a longing to be embraced, protected, cherished by Enzo. But how could she? How could she. They continued climbing the stairs slowly, until when she felt emotions outflowing from her heart, and she looked into his eyes and told him she was sorry for speaking so much and him so little, she knew she was being an egoist, and yet she so much needed to speak, and he was the person who listened the best she had ever met. She was afraid to lose him, of him thinking she was an egoist. And she longed for him to tell her that he did not give so much attention, so much care, so much tenderness, to other people, other girls, and that she was special to him. But he didn’t say that. They continued walking to her house, and parted. But suddenly Lucy had a second thought and called Enzo back. She was feeling a wave of love for him. Love, what? Yes love, she loved him at that moment. A part of herself knew it. She had found love. She looked into his eyes and said slowly, solemnly. Enzo, you are only the second person with whom I take pleasure to write in this way. She saw his face decomposing. One part of her expected him to come closer, to tell her that he too had never found so much pleasure writing with anyone else. One part of her expected him to come closer and hug her and kiss her. But he remained frozen in place, and he said thank you, and he left. She could feel her words had brought a lot of emotions in him, but these emotions scared her. They were deep, so deep, so intense. It was not the simple love Lucy thought she longed for. This boy was too intense. And when in the next days he wrote her with even more intensity his lyrical prose, Lucy didn’t reply. Oh one part of her longed to abandon herself to this. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t. It was too deep, too scary. If she did, she would completely melt, lose all control. No, no, even that thought scared her, and so she blocked the thought of Enzo from her mind.
And time passed. And each time Lucy tried to push Enzo out of her thoughts, out of her heart. And yet a part of her was in deep pain when she did it. But she repressed the pain too, and could pretend everything was fine. But Enzo always reappeared at the next curve of the road. He wrote her, and Lucy felt the longing in her heart stirring and they met again. They looked into one another’s eyes and shared their intensity in a moment of timelessness, and then suddenly it all become clear to Lucy, they were destined to write together. And she outvoiced her idea, and Enzo immediately agreed, and thus they started writing their first novel together. Each of them would write the part of a character, and slowly they would build up their story and articulate it around a clever mix of fantasy and reality. Their brainstorming together was magical, as Lucy somehow felt in a space outside time where everything became possible. For some months, they wrote together from the distance, as Lucy had moved back home. For some months, they dreamt within the same story. They didn’t communicate much outside from their story, as again and again Enzo’s sheer intensity scared Lucy, and each time they spoke she felt he dragged her into the depth of her emotions, the depth of her soul, a depth she was not ready to look at yet. The story they wrote together was painful too, as it was a metaphor of who they were. It was somehow the fiction of a true story, of characters growing into themselves. And when Lucy wrote her way to her wound of the past, to the love she was unable to live, she stopped. She wrote Enzo telling him she could go no further, making up an excuse, while her heart bled with disappointment and sorrow. Enzo echoed her innermost feelings, writing her a long missive that made her bleed even more. But she could not, she could not, live this pain, and so she blocked it for many months.
Until for the first time, Enzo dared to write her a poem expressing his love for her. Again, she felt weighty stones moving, upturned by the poetry of his words, by the purity of his feelings. She responded with her lyricism, caressed him slightly, as much as she dared to do, and retreated into her safety. Months passed. Enzo wrote her again, expressing his love in a much more convinced manner. It was the longest letter he had ever written, Lucy had ever received. This time, she could not push the emotions it triggered in her away. For the first time, his words made her cry and she realized how high around her heart her walls were. She cried and cried, marvelled before the depth and the beauty of his love. And after several days she wrote him, telling him she had never felt so cherished and loved, expressing how awed she was by the true meaning of unconditional love. Afterwards, they started to correspond. Lucy wrote Enzo the longest letters she had written anyone, telling him her entire life, expressing all her feelings, her dreams, her traumas, her fears. He could help her like no other person could. And she wrote him only her father could sometimes dent through her walls, as Enzo could. But Enzo wrote her again and again, and each of his letters brought up the deepest emotions in Lucy. She realized the depth of the wound she had in her chest, and she understood the way out was to start writing it, and she shared her progression with Enzo, as he encouraged her day after day, week after week. They grew very, very close, as close as they had ever been, and thanks to the emotions Enzo brought in her chest, Lucy could write poetry again after a long, long time. And on Valentine’s day she received a letter from him, a story told in verses, and that inspired her another poem. But closeness with this boy was scary, and a couple of months afterwards, Lucy took fright again, and their roads split for some time, as she hurt him with her deeds. She had betrayed him with another boy, one she didn’t love. Of course, as usual, one part of herself bled. But the fear was too deep to resist.
Many, many months passed. Until when Enzo wrote her again, again, the perfect words at the perfect time. In novels, Lucy loved magic, but in real life what Enzo could do was quite scare for her. And yet she longed for that kind of magic, and she wrote him it at the same time elated and terrified her. She replied to him a long letter, telling him in depth of all what had happened in her life meanwhile, as he had himself done. And a couple of weeks later, he came to see her for the first time, surprising her. It was very strange to see him again. The intensity between them had grown even more, despite the two years during which they had not seen one another nor spoken on the phone. Lucy could never tire of looking into Enzo’s eyes, and yet she still was afraid of him. She was tender at first, as she could sense the deep melancholy of his heart, all the tears he could not shed. But then she was caught by panic and she pushed him again. They met again the same afternoon. They looked in one another’s eyes for a long, long time, without speaking. Lucy was torn between her fear and her desire to cry and embrace him. Fear won and she pushed him away. But the next day, Enzo wrote her a few words of his heart. He told her she would never be happy if she continued to repress her emotions, to live a life she didn’t want to live. He told her he loved her. And Lucy’s heart burst, and she started crying like she had never cried in her entire life. She cried and cried and cried, and she met Enzo again before his departure, and she embraced him as she never had. They remained embraced for a very long time, and they spoke and spoke all what they had never told one another, all what they longed to say to one another. Lucy asked Enzo why he had not written her during all these months, and there was the deepest pain in her, the deepest sadness, as she said these words. Enzo’s writings were the most precious thing to her. She also told him they would be truly free and happy only when they would stop counting time, and as she said these words, she felt the intense longing to be with him. She said it would take long, but Enzo reassured her telling her it would be shorter than she thought. They looked all the time into one another’s eyes and could not refrain from smiling uncontrollably.
They parted. Again, they resumed their correspondence. Thanks to the new emotions Lucy had unlocked in herself, she could write much more, also poetry. She shared it all with Enzo, telling him that only his opinion truly mattered, only him could truly understand her. She knew she often hurt him, she knew he was still insecure of her love, and whenever she felt those waves of love for him, she tried to share them before fear took back its grip on her heart. Months passed, until summer arrived. And then, for the first time ever, Lucy was able to write Enzo she loved him, after she had cried again. And for the first time, she dared to call him her twin of fate. And when she did she felt the most intense warmth and happiness through her body and her soul. For the first time she was able to truly give Enzo some love. And as she did Enzo became even tenderer in his love, and as they wrote one another they grew into new understandings. They started to discover more of the relationship between drawing and writing, as both were skilled with the paintbrush and the pen. And they started to understand how interrelated their emotions were, and how deeply Enzo could help Lucy to retrieve her lost emotions, her sadness, her despair, her melancholy, her anger, her joy. For one month and a half they wrote one another almost every day the most intense letters, and Lucy could tell many times to Enzo she loved him. She told him she loved him like she could love no other person. For the first time in her life, Lucy felt entirely loved, entirely understood, entirely seen, by her counterpart of fate. But fears were still present deep in her heart. And when he came to see her again, she at first welcomed him in her room and she invited him for dinner and let him see all her drawings. He cried in front of one of her childhood’s drawings, and it was so strange to see him cry the tears she could not shed herself. And so touching too. She longed to melt into his arms. But she was too scared of the emotional depth he brought her too. She offered him a branch of white roses, and her childhood’s drawing, the most precious she had, but to her disappointment he refused to take her drawing saying it was hers, and only took a single white rose. Lucy hugged him twice before they parted. Enzo had told her he had visited her birthtown and her elementary school, and he had cried a lot there, feeling all her pain, how for three years she had felt entirely lost in life, and her only safe place had become school. But that was still way too intense for Lucy to cope with, and when Enzo came back to her two days later, she pushed him away with as much strength as she could, because meanwhile the emotions he had stirred in her had sent her in the most horrible panic, and she had decided to repress it all, her emotions and her love for him. She pushed him away in the harshest of ways, without pity, expressing for the first time all the anger trapped in her heart as she felt safe enough to do with Enzo, and shutting all her doors on his face. For many months he continued to write her, but she blocked him and never replied. And yet, despite that facade of harshness, she came to read the poetry he wrote sometimes, because one part of her longed for him. But she was not ready, not ready, to reconcile her twin brother of magic and love with her surrounding, with her friends and family and studies. She didn’t know how to bridge the two. And for now her twin scared her too much, and so she preferred to focus on the rest, even if that threw her in agony because she felt like she had been amputated of one part of her heart. She had written him in the summer she barely spoke of him to the others around, and preferred to keep his existence, their bond, secret, as she was afraid they would not understand its depth. Enzo tried to contact her in every means, he was in a lot of pain, but Lucy kept the walls around her very firm. Until when many months later, for the first time she wrote two stories about their separation, their pain, and the way to retrieve one another one day. These two stories demanded to be shared with Enzo and so after many days of hesitation Lucy shared these stories with him, out of the blue, when she was pretending to block him and not to care about him. In her heart she knew the truth. But she could not speak it yet. Everyone around thought she hated him, but in fact she loved him too much for her own good, and she was scared. The two stories she had written were beautiful and she hoped they would give Enzo hope and courage, she hoped he would feel embraced and kissed by her words, she hoped he would be able to break her out from her shell, her inner prison. She had asked him to retrieve her in the emptiness she left. And she had asked him why there was no second her, as she had called him the second me during the last summer. Her twin of fate, her twin of love. So alike they can read one another’s mind, one another’s heart. So alike they feel one another’s pain. The pain Lucy felt during all the year was heartbreaking. She felt Enzo’s pain and also her pain. She longed so, so deeply for him, for his words, for his caresses. And yet she could not, she could not. After her two stories, Enzo slowly grew even more courageous, more enterprising. She had told him after all to be dauntless, fearless. And now she was secretly proud and glad to see him. And she felt the depth of his love for her, a love so strong it could move mountains. Enzo wrote her over and over trying to help her break down her walls around her heart, and he pushed his audacity in coming to see her again in the strangest of circumstances, as he wished all his family and his friends to know of his love for her, and to support her and send her words of encouragement to make her feel entirely welcomed. And he wished to help Lucy to tell the truth to the people she loved. But his plan backfired at first, as Lucy was again in too much fear. One part of her had followed all Enzo’s actions, wishing him to continue and continue, as she felt him growing closer and closer from denting as her innermost defences. And the other part of her was in sheer panic as Enzo brought confrontation between her and her entourage. And she had to push him away again, even more harshly, to save herself from the depth of the pain in her chest. And yet as she pushed him away, she came to read his poetry every day. She at night sat in the forest and listened to the whisper of the wind and the river, and heard his voice singing. And each night she was marvelled by the beauty of his words, each night she longed for his embrace. They had come so close from meeting again, but fate had decided otherwise. But even as she pushed Enzo away, she felt they had become even closer. And in the following weeks, he ceased to write her altogether, but he continued to whisper to the wind and sing to the river, and she each night faithfully came to hear him. Each day their love grew in strength and in depth. Each day her defences grew weaker and weaker. Until the day when Lucy read this tale Enzo had written, and she decided to send it to her mother and to her father. Only her parents could help her break down her walls, only her parents could give her the support, the confirmation, the encouragement, the approval, the love she needed. Only her parents could reconcile both her worlds. Her family, her friends, her career, and her true love. Only her parents could repair what had been broken. Only her parents could set everything alright again.
And her parents received Enzo’s words. They had thought Enzo evil, but as they read his tale they discovered a great sensitivity in it, a deep knowledge of their daughter. And they both were awed, puzzled, worried. Her father called his daughter afterwards, when he was done with reading the tale. “Is that the truth?” he asked her directly. Lucy replied it was. It was. She loved Enzo. She had kept it hidden, she had made him pass for her enemy. But it was out of too much love. Her father, shocked listens to her tale. And then he calls himself her mother too, to tell her about the situation. And then Lucy tells them everything, and for the first time she weeps in front of them both, and she shares the depth of her pain, of her trauma with them. And for the first time her mother and her father understand, and they hug her as they hadn’t for years. They understand how much Lucy has suffered, and why she has made suffer Enzo so much. They understand how deeply Enzo loves their daughter, as Lucy shares all what Enzo has written with them, and they are very touched by it. They are also surprised and touched by the trust and the love Enzo’s parents have for their daughter, as they firmly believe in their love story and the goodness of Lucy’s heart. They decide to settle things with him and with his family, and give them a warm embrace of renewed friendship, and they give their benediction to their daughter to go meet her beloved. Lucy can at last let the truth of her heart shine, without fear or shame. She can at last live her love and her dream, and become the writer of fantasy she always hoped to be, as reality and fantasy marry and blend in her life. It was not for nothing she had called Enzo the wording wizard many years ago. It was not for nothing she had placed all her trust in him.
And now the curtains fall, as Lucy and Enzo look into one another’s eyes again and take one another in their arms and kiss for the first time radiating happiness and joy, and time stops.