Queen of chaos

Dedicated to the queen of chaos, who taught me the value of order and discipline.

When I met her, some years ago, I never thought we could become friends, much less lovers. I had seen her on social networks, that virtual showcase where appearance rules at ease, often annihilating all reasonableness, all honesty, all reality. I greeted her, simply. She responded with kindness and perhaps curiosity. That was the beginning, quite simple as you can see, of a very complex relationship, where there was no lack of heated discussions, furtive kisses, walks with no fixed direction or destination, huge drunkenness that I still avoid today by strict medical prescription. In short, that was the meeting of two completely dissimilar individuals, the clash of two opposing currents, the collision of two unstoppable trains.

I once told her that she was the queen of chaos. To this day, every time I remind her of it, she never stops laughing; I now understand why. Her appearance, her conversations, her ideas, her motivations; everything about her was voluptuous, disconcerting, chaotic. Her body, especially her skin, smooth and full of tattoos as she always likes to say, was like the incandescent surface of a planet in formation. One ran the risk of touching her and getting burned. Her past life, which she used to mention from time to time, was an accumulation of indecipherable experiences. Her words invited sensation, not logical comprehension of events, which she narrated with bewitching, untidy eloquence. Drawn to magic and the arcane, she uttered mysterious phrases and incantations in extinct languages. In the darkness, when the night fell and hid everything, she concentrated her gaze and observed with penetrating attention to nowhere, in an attempt to see beyond the obvious.

  

However, my surprise was enormous when I visited her house and saw that it was a very tidy and clean temple. There were flowers of all colors arranged symmetrically throughout the room, without any imperfection or aesthetic blunder. In her room, in addition to paintings and photographs of her own, there were schedules, notes, reminders of her obligations. His days, which I thought were offered to pure chance, to the most terrible and infernal disorder, were actually organized with acute detail, with the celestial thoroughness of someone who knows he has a clear purpose in the world. Instantly I felt deceived, the innocent victim of a great farce that I had even idealized. Before my astonishment and my claims, she remained silent, observing herself in her oval mirror, evaluating the intensity of her makeup, judging herself with tender pity. She admired herself, fell in love with herself and I am sure congratulated herself for being such a good trickster. I demanded a definitive explanation from her with a seriousness I had to struggle to maintain. She in response gave me her body and an orgasm so intense it nearly killed me. Every sacred object in her temple seemed to watch our nakedness. That peaceful and warm afternoon, of amazements and deceptions revealed, the most orderly chaos I have ever seen reigned.