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made to love
PAOLO'S visits to us became less frequent after we had that
conversation. I could tell he was struggling between his
being a man, and his being a seminarista. But what made him
come home less to us, I could not really tell. I was afraid
that he had done something and was too ashamed to face us.
But I was able to tuck this worry to the back of my mind
everyday. Enrique's presence was my reason for waking up
happy each morning. His was the smile that I lived for and
yearned for. As the days passed and his skin grew darker
from all the hours spent under the sun, my love for him
grew brighter and brighter. I was certain he was the man
that I was made to love.
But I concealed my feelings and did not voice them out. I
did not know how to tell him. I did not know how to explain
to him. I did not know how to compete with all the other
girls clamoring for him. Some of them were part of the
group that came to our town. Most of them were rich, fair,
and definitely beautiful. These women who fondly called him
Rick. I could hardly even call him Enrique. The name
sounded too precious for my humble mouth to utter.
Every night I mumbled his name in my sleep. I dreamt of us
getting married and having children who would run around
the field squealing and laughing. We would live comfortably
if not luxuriously. We would continue to pollute our town
with our happiness and love. We would be together for
Every morning when the sunlight conquered my room, I would
remember that my dream -- as real as it may have felt --
was just a dream. Dreams do not last through the day. My
dreams did not last.