martes, 24 de febrero de 2009
You walk out that door. I stay, knowing you were never here. I wait for the next waiting. Tire myself with a flood of myself and snap the door open. Outside, a black snake curls around the curb. As my headlights wash her I almost hit another car. I drive fast, completely aware of a solitude that wraps around me. Wherever I go, I go with it. Like I’m no longer by myself. You wouldn’t want me to be this lonely. Or do you? In my dreams your voice keeps me company. You were that person that kissed me and loved me, and you’re gone. A love so strong that only returns in dreams. Now I’m falling. And that makes you smile, a dirty smile that spreads all over the room. You’ll come and follow your steps around the ceiling and through the fireplace to remind me that there are things: loves and hates that never go away. There’s no shortage of wanting or the fear of having it. As I drive and race (for no reason but the speed and to get my hands on cream for tomorrow's coffee) I relax, intermittently. Then, the market: Friday night is a parade of beautiful young women on their blackberries, getting the order for pink vodka and more tequila. I watch. Wow. I stumble into another slug, who is also watching. We collide and silently follow her and the other temptations on aisle 5. I race down the hill and again there’s the dying snake. Only tomorrow will tell what it really is -in my perverse cyclone here, where the ambush of the ghosts lives on. No sé, a quién querer, a quién odiar.