Tangier

Every time he won..he lost soon after, and every time he lost, the colorful Mosaic called his life became more fragile, as it became more detailed. The most beautiful objects in the world are the most fragile, his sadness over Cordoba, over her, over his lost identity..was complimented by the loss of a sudden friendship, sudden in its creation, sudden in its deep effect, and sudden in its loss.

Tangier was now close, and our friend could tell that his awaited liberation was near, he was missing her..he was missing the details of her face, she was Cordoba, and Cordoba was her, his quest for her..for the reconquest of his subsequent defeats was the redemption of all his past sins, he was a deep believer in the sacred geometry of chance, chance was by which he had met her, chance was the driver of his gain, his loss, and the force that got him to set on this journey.

The sea wind was carrying a familiar scent, a scent he grew up smelling, the orange orchards of distant villages laying beside the sea were the first signs of his nearness to home, nearness to her, those orange orchards carried ripe jewels, he could almost see them shining in the distance with their teasing color, he could tell...that from now on..home was within his grasp, she was home, the streets of Cordoba where she walked were the veins in his body, and the streams running through its valleys were his blood.

The ship lowered anchor as the sun was setting in the western sky, and north of here was Andalusia..a fresh breathe of northern air away. He walked the roads of Tangier, the markets were closing for the day and merchants were gathering their goods and heading home, the scent of eastern spices mixed with the smell of Andalusian jasmin, Tangier was the younger sister of Cordoba, they both have the same eyes, the same smile, and the same noble lineage, people spoke almost the same way as they did in Cordoba, speech sounded like music, distinct to the opposite banks of Gibraltar, that rock stood there..proud like a noble Andalusian woman, announcing the nearness of beauty, defending it from prying foreign eyes, it was the veil on Andalusia's face, behind it was the face of Arabia..Iberia, united in sound, united in blood, that defending veil on the face of Andalusia was staring at him from the short distance between them, and as he stood on the beach..his feet were being washed by waves coming from Gibraltar..even the sea knew that this was a son longing for his mother, those waves touched his feet gently..they were the fingertips of Andalusia, and she was embracing him privately..away from all humanity.