i've seen it move

I always had a soft spot in my heart for men with holes in their chests. Where I come from, they call it 'chicken chest', and hearts of these men are said to grow smaller than the others.

There is a town in the south, a town with narrow streets and tall houses made of stone, that stretches itself along the coast, squeezed between the sea and the mountains. The cats there are said to live longer than people, and when they turn their heads for a moment and look towards you with their gleaming yellow eyes, such things are easy to believe.
In the only square, townspeople gather at dusk to talk about the day's catch. They're slow, reliable people, and their brown skin is weathered with wind and salt. They live with the great turquoise sea and they are bow-legged from ever sailing their boats.

It is dusk, and I am standing knee-deep in the water, watching the sky turn from blue to velvety, fragnant lavender. All the townspeople are at the square, and I can hear their soft murmur in the distance.

My life is a piece of fiction, mediocre for its fabula but rich for its style and language. I've seen beauty move among the trees and disappear in an instant. There wasn't much to it, really.

The others are sitting on the shore, they have the sky in their eyes. They're laughing at something, I don't know what. It's good to be young and to have the sky in your eyes. But soon it will be autumn again, and we will return to our dark apartments with ever burning lights and empty beds and to our falling leaves we so love to catch with our hands and admire for a second, knowing they will rot soon, and their weight on our palms makes us sigh.
I don't think about it. I think about the sea that fits my knees perfectly like a piece of beautiful cold metal jewelry. I think about a man with a hole in his chest who never speaks a word and has the sky in his eyes. I've seen beauty move under the surface of his skin like a smooth shiver and disappear in an instant.
I've met someone recently. The hole's in place, but his heart, unlike others, has not grown small. It's big, and there's plenty of room in it. I think I'll cling to him for a while.

I always had a weak spot for men with holes in their chests, you see. I suppose it has something to do with my heart, that's grown as small as the head of a nail.