Bubbles

And I will write you like the poem that you are...

Carrie Rudzinski

 There is no up, nor down. Floating in ignominy. Cause I am the one that can think of just one thing. And that is you. I dared approach your eyes. And I now lay lost. Blissful endless continuum. There is no up, nor down. Cause dreams are mere stills if you ain't in them. Like blooming fields of tulips. Like crashing waves during a storm. I want you. In blue. As paper planes launching from the highest building in the city, tumbling down in currents filled with the voice of Aphrodite.

There is no up, nor down. I cannot lie and curl as I used to. Gravity betrayed me cause it is only you to whom it will listen, gracefully contorting it if you brush it with the tips of your left hand. All I do is close my eyes and hope. Hope for you to come close and close and close until your nose rubs against mine. And then I die cause that is how I feel when you kiss me. Transcending the nine heavens, flying amongst cherubs, bathed in daylight. I want you. I want you. Like Ahab wants the whale. 

Cause I am soap bubbles reflecting the Sun, bouncing in the wind when I am with you. Cause I am the sound of the last dying cello in an étude about a flying comet when I am with you. Have I said that I want you? Do you mind hearing it again? It don't matter I cannot reach you with my fingertips right now since, well, I can still feel you with the tip of my tongue. Filthy, lustful, I know. But honest. Cause I am soap bubbles. Reflecting the Sun. Bouncing in the wind. Floating towards you, my bear, my blood, my passion, my muse.

Ceremony

 How can love be this crippling? All I think is you. God. I can sleep proper, but at what cost? All I want to do is sleep, perhaps eat something not to starve, play a game or two of chess, listen to ceremony, and barely that. Cause it do not matter what else I do, it is done without the slightest of attention. Carefully, but automatically.  I been blessed by you, showered by your stars. I feel you jumpstarting my heart when I falter, oh God. Do you feel my outstretched arms reaching for you in love?

Mahalia sang about this once, so passionately, so this text is a futile example to say the same. I will come out of my house later, to the benches in the tiny park near my house, with Kierkegaard in one hand and a tumbler full of coffee in the other. I will talk to the lonely man who is sometimes there and ask them to break bread with me. I will ask them what is the last thing they think before they fall asleep. I will ask what they plan on eating that day too. I will say 'Good afternoon' and walk away after while, until I know not where I am, drenched in sweat, and turn back, looking for a chapel where I can lose myself in you. Cause there I am what I am. Cause there no one will judge me. Cause there You might teach me a thing or two.

How can love be this crippling... I take my black guitar and play nothing in particular, barely brushing the strings, humming notes of desperation, hoping you can hear my serenade.

 Still do I feel you in the tip of my tongue

 And still

my lip trembles...

A la distancia

Toda mi colonia se ha quedado sin electricidad. Me he asomado y nada. La vecina de arriba dice que no hubo anuncios en redes, o en la tortillería para estos casos, avisando de un corte. Está tan de la chingada el frío que en una de esas le pasó algo a un transformador, espeta otro vecino. No mames, Ramón, eso no pasa... ¡Habrá que ver que tonteras se te ocurren! Me despido y entro a casa mientras los vecinos se ríen y gritan. No hay música porque olvidé bajar nuevas listas esta mañana. No hay lectura porque ya son las 7 en invierno y se me joden los ojos de ardor por leer a la luz de una vela. No hay café porque malditas ganas de que sea de grano todo el tiempo y no guardo soluble en la alacena. Así que me tumbo en la cama aunque no tenga sueño, cierro los ojos, e indiferentemente como cada vez que hay silencio, mis pensamientos derivan en ti. Recuerdo la primera vez que me miraste de una forma distinta, como si notases algo nuevo por primera vez. Tu sonrisa era un simple esbozo. Pero tus ojos... Ellos jamás me pudieron mentir. Me bañaban en emoción cada vez que nos veíamos a escondidas, cada vez que despertamos juntos, cada beso apasionado o no. No importaba qué más te hubiese emocionado en la vida, yo me sentía cual Mercurio observado por el Sol. Mi perros comienzan a chillar que quieren salir, que necesitan salir al baño, pero no quiero hacerles caso. No quiero abrir los ojos. Porque abrirlos sería perderte porque sabré que no estás aquí, en esta perfecta oscuridad en la que podría dormir contigo, sentir tu alocado pelo contra mi nariz, oler tu piel, notar como te aprietas contra mí cuando sientes frío. Maldita sea, murmuro mientras me pongo de pie y voy hacia la puerta trasera. Pongo las correas, tomo la bolsa para los desechos, y salgo a caminar con aquellos que me rescataron hace unos años. El cielo se ve tan azul, sin estrellas, sin aviones, sin aves, y con una luna tan perfecta que no puedo evitar responderle con una sonrisa.

 No sólo te lo he ofrecido, sino te lo he dado ya. En el frío y la desesperanza, en la penumbra y con la cabeza gacha; entre trinos de aves y caminatas al sol; en una noche juntos, y cuando fumo solo al amanecer. Porque los rostros de la gente por la calle cobran sentido cuando ninguno es el tuyo. Porque el aliento es sólo aire cuando no es un ventarrón de deseo viniendo de tus labios. Porque mi cuerpo es simple matemática sino eres tú quien me lleva de la mano.

Celoso fui de querer volverme a enamorar. Qué me parta un rayo si me dejo, si me alcanzan. Lo dijo Whitman, me canto a mí mismo, y lo demás no importa. Soy dueño de mi sexo, de mis miradas, de mis voces, de mis textos. Si a alguien intereso, que me busquen, me seduzcan, me convenzan. Yo soy el que soy, y nada más. Ja, pésimo sentido del humor el mío, porque me doy cuenta de que simplemente esperaba por ti.

Mi corazón es tuyo, así como mis labios marcados con tu nombre y mis ojos nacarados con tus rostro. Cerezo que da sombra, la luna creciente, el primer sorbo de café, seré lo que quieras. Pilar de sal después de pecar juntos, el humo de un cigarro en la madrugada.

No sólo lo he ofrecido, sino lo he entregado ya. Si lo dudas, simplemente cierra los ojos, pon tu mano en tu pecho desnudo, y di mi nombre. 

Pequeño cuento para antes de dormir

Temeroso pequeño oso rojo

A beber del río

En tenebrosa noche.

Miró el creciente de la azul luna

En el agua, sonriente

Y pudo sonreírle de vuelta.

Extrañándote nomás

Quisiera estar allá, arropado junto a ti en este jodido frío. Parándome para servirte café, para hacerte el desayuno. Güey, alguien te va a escribir, me dices. Ay, por 10 minutos se pueden ir al diablo, te respondo. Hago huevito, pico algo de fruta, y regreso a ti, con las manos llenas, a punto de caerme, y ríes mientras me ayudas a ponerlo todo donde estamos.

Extrañarte no es dolor. No es hacer rabieta, y bufar porque no te veo. Extrañarte es querer estar contigo para perder la noción tiempo e imaginar constelaciones en tu cuerpo. Extrañarte es tocar mi pecho y finalmente sentir algo en ese lugar hacia la izquierda del mismo.

Podría llenar este texto de 'quisieras,' mas creo un poco es insulto a lo que siento. Así que quiero estar contigo, sintiéndote cuando recorro tu pelo con mis dedos y besándote en la sien cuando me pongo de pie y te sirvo un poco más de café. Quiero hurgar tus rincones con mi lengua, perdiéndome en el cielo azul que es tu cuerpo. Oír que mientas madres de la gente, y cómo hablas de lo mucho que retumba un chelo en tu pecho. Sentir tu aliento detrás de mis orejas porque me abrazas por detrás. Voltearme y besarte sin mirarte. Quiero bañarme en ti, contigo, con mis labios en tus párpados, y mi dedo en tu sexo. Quiero ignorar la soledad que me acongoja a veces porque me sentí solo tanto tiempo. Ven, y platiquemos un momento, me dice. Y la ignoro porque reflejarme en el mar que son tus ojos es lo único que quiero.

Ven, me dices. Desayuna conmigo. Me siento, y vemos el día pasar.

 Si así ardí por 24 horas, no puedo imaginar cómo será de aquí hasta que el universo se contraiga y explote una vez más...

 I do not even know what the time is. Kind of hungover. Sleep deprived. Pulsations of the beat I used to fuck you. Torn lingual frenulum. Sex-lagged all over. Indomitable fire.

 I stink of you, sex of gods, cascades of atoms, arms around me, verbs of passion, no nouns at all. I stink of you, bird of sorrow. Counting hours is not my thing, but as to waiting for you is all I got, it is 57 before I can...

Tu azul siendo tan cálido

 Tiemblo aunque voy sentado. No es el vaivén del tren. Ni los vestigios de alcohol en mi sistema. Eres tú y tu voz pulsar. Es tu sexo tan salado y tu piel erizada por mis labios. Olvidé mis anteojos, aunque no importa tanto. Quiero sólo ver hacia adentro de mí, en la oscuridad terrible, y ver tus ojos, tus labios. Insoportable calor. Y no es por la gruesa gorra que apenas amilana mi hirsuto cabello, o el desparrame de gente en el vagón. Es porque ardí contigo. Encendiose eternamente por 24 horas mi maltrecho cuerpo. Y sigo en combustión, con tu humor atrapado en mi piel y tu sabor atomizando mis labios. Te veo todavía, vestigio del sol al cerrar los ojos al mediodía. Te beso aunque sé ya vas lejos. Tiemblo. Tiemblo! Tal vez dos horas y llego a casa. En automático sonriendo ya que, ¡demonios! Pensar en ti es suficiente razón causa en esta lenta tarde de otoño.

 Yeah

Today

I'm about to short circuit 

 I hate you. I hate how you make me think of the Milky Way. How I burn when you fucking look at me. How you fucking push me to make out with someone else. How I think over and over that you know, that you don't, that you need to push me away, that you itch, that you hate me too, that you yearn to tear me. I hate that I want you. I hate that you don't. I hate that you give twice as much two shits that I can't have you. And that still do you need me to see you as the cluster of stars that won't brighten your morning. I hate that I say no, then yes, then no.

Would you have me? You know, like a sip of coffee at nine in the morning. Like, you know, like something you never had.

No one else is nothing. Someone else is something, but never you.

I was like, you do know, like you were going to take me and like say, Lie with me, sleep with me, make me breakfast, ignore me, leave, send me a song, wish me a good day, say my name, say my name one, two, three, five, thirteen, forty seven times my name, call me sweetheart without my permission, suffer, and start all over the morning after. Cause I can comply non-stop. Cause you know it and you know it and you'll smile and you'll smile.

And... And I don't know what else to type.

Tamás

 Who'll save him from being a man?

I like that street cause I can feel the leaves from the bushes on the curb. Just like when I was a boy, I run one of my hands all over them as I walk. Mind you, I was not as high as I am now on weed. I was high on life, though. Fearful like a squirrel in between of all those people. I'm still afraid, but for different reasons all together. Life seemed, well, larger than my known world. Today I fear how much I got left and how fast I keep living. Igniting myself at the slightest provocation. Seemingly attempting to intoxicate my surroundings and eventually burn out. It is not myself if I am not ablaze, I reckon. Out of control day in, day out. Spewing existential threads of thought.

This is why I want to test if someone can slow me down. I am running out of fuel. I can see the goal right ahead, but nothing is holding me by the hand. All I grab gets pulled with me and starts combusting rapidly. If it won't burn, I won't be working. My relationships, my family, my sex, my addictions, this text...

I am drunk in emotion, seeing how the roof above and walls around begin to crumble. Existence is a blur, everyone's shouts chirping in the distance. If I were only to trip, topple and stop to feel the sun. If it were the rays bathing, the insects walking on me, the grass and herbs dancing to the beat of my swollen heart. I could hear the waves calling me home deafeningly, asking me to ride on a white horse. Kidnapping for me to drown in the horizon.

La La

 Te soñé entre luciérnagas una noche de verano. Menguante luna, cómplice silencio. Rasgando mis ropas, encontrando mi sexo. Ardiente unísono. Te soñé leyendo al pie de un árbol. Borges, taoísmo, una biografía de Nabokov, qué sé yo... Radiante al sol. Con las hojas de pasto atropellándose unas a las otras por alcanzar los dedos de tus pies. Absorta en soledad.

Mi nombre me fue dado así un día pudieras susurrarlo en mi oído. Porque la cascada de momentos que ha sido esta vida cobra sentido cuando tú me descubres cualquier día de verano. Soy porque soy porque soy contigo. Sin alegorías exageradas o aliteraciones flojas. Soy como soy cuando soy contigo. Buscando alcanzarte aunque no corras.

Quiero rozar tus pechos con el viento. Besarte con temor. Morderte en demasía. Aunarte con el cielo. Probarte ciegamente y amarte con hartazgo. Existir incompletamente y atarme a ti.

Soñé luciérnagas una noche de verano. Iluminando mi rostro. Reflejándose en la oscuridad infinitamente.

La

A merced del viento.

Pastos susurrantes.

Tú y yo descalzos.

A walk nowhere

 Hit me. Hit me hard. As fast as you might. I won't mind how hard. Be the one you want. And hit me hard. I'm iron. Cold and clad. Drive me far. And let me to rot. I'll find my way. Back to you perhaps. So you make your choice. Will you rip me naked? Leaving marks across. Wear my hide as you please. And haunt me for sport. Dry me, dry me, dry me. And hit me hard as you might. Words are overrated. You can keep your eyes closed. I can be gentle. Or I can start to roar. You should only sigh. Or should too begin to roar. I am only an animal. In heat and despair. Hit me, hit me hard. Be the one you want. I'll find back my way. Running, running after you. Going for the neck.

And I want you.

Every night right in my bed.

Legs open.

Waiting for me to start the commotion.

Thursday

 If you touch me

Well, I just think I'll scream

It had been 10 months since the last event.

It had been 12 years since I felt this way. So defeated. At someone's mercy. Yearning. Yearning. Full of ups and downs.

I aim at exploding inside you. Atomically. Anatomically.

Your touch is remedy. For this distemper. If I were to run to you. Naked. Careless. Throbbing like a star.

Pulsating at 200 beats per minute. Smelling you in my clothes.

I want you. Fuck, do I want you. Supernova me in your eyes. I am all no one ever was, can you see that?

It had been 12 years since I last felt like a soul. Weightless. Levitating. Grab me by the leg before I float astray. Cause what I need I get simply staying right by you.

I'll mouth Whitman in your ear. I'll run myself over your skin. And we'll be one if only for a moment. The universe a simple blur.

I will make you breakfast and hum you a song. The one you choose. And nothing else will matter. If only for a moment.

You'll go home and I will too. So you can miss me and want to do this over and over.

It had been 12 years since I last crawled. Do me. Do me. Do me. To the beat of any song.

Grab me by the head. Pull me ever closer. Have me be a one. The one. The one that's next to you while the world collapses.

 It is hard for me to stop believing I know better...

It is easy for me to lie and tell myself that I don't...

Warmth

 The alarm from the phone went off. "Is this love. Feeling blasted. In such a way. A-blasting, a-blasting. My heart in shreds..." I had three cigarettes for supper last night. How did I not expect to feel hot and have nightmares... Bad habits of old. "I've been waiting, I've been waiting!" The silliest thoughts crossed my mind. Not even the cold air from the fan and a long-ass podcast helped. "I don't think I'm even interested no more" And here I go again. Smoke forming clouds of rain. Cold sandwiches laying on the table. I should have bought an extra bottle of wine for this type of occasion, right? Who cares what I have for breakfast... My mum, for that matter. It is a workday, but mints would do. ”I burst in flames when I'm far away. Looking for signs of love" I don't want to shower either, but sleeping in that warm quilt gave me a stink for sure. Fuck the gym and its friendly faces. "How are you this morning? Don't you feel rested and shiny on this blessed day?" I masturbate and reach an orgasm, but it is empty. Who says you can't smoke in the shower? I turn up the music and dance. All I can do is dance. The weather is cold, but I put on bermuda shorts and a tee. The receptionist will ask me if I am alright, if I'm not cold for sure. That is all I need, superfluous interest from anyone. I'm not supposed to eat on the train, but I nibble on one of the sandwiches once in a while. I feel alive, savvy, but at what cost. No song would distract me. If I open my eyes, if I look out the window, I cannot avoid shivering. If I close them, all I can hear is the last noises you made, still for me to hear on my phone. "Don't you get me wrong, don't you get me wrong now..." If there is no rain this afternoon, I can go to the park near my office and take a bench to nap. I do not feel broken, which is worse. I very well knew what was to happen. Yet... "You took the world by surprise, and set it all on fire" I'm such a prodigy at this job I can do it on automatic. 'Yeah, sure, let me take a look!' 'No worries. You should see the changes now.' Time is child's play when you are in pain. My boss greets me and says I should be ready to rock after a well-deserved rest. He has no idea. I'm not into the habit of sharing, so I nod and smile. I don't believe he can tell a sad smile from a good one. When I feel this numb and shitty, I find relief in going to bed and dreaming, wishing for time to zoom by, hoping for these thoughts to eventually wash away. I am so terrified it won't work tonight. This cheap white wine I bought on my way home will do. It won't be be as strong as to make me drunk and want to puke, but will suffice to alleviate it all. I don't even change into my sleeping clothes. I play Debussy and set the fan to 5. I lay down and pray for sleep and dreams I've never had. I pray for your warmth.

Cherry Blossoms on Oaken Street

If I could only travel over there and be one with you.

The Wave (I)

Humans are the worst travel companions. Travel is supposed to be a pleasure. Yes, there are sometimes trips for work, for grievous matters, the kind you cannot really avoid. However, breathing a different kind of air even from the city down the road is refreshing. But humans... All that anxiety from being unable to shut the hell up for just one second makes them incapable of simply letting go and enjoying and not being. Oof, they always have to be all the time. They have to be the kind companion, the good parent, the understanding shoulder, the pious believer, the role model, the recipient of patting. Unless they got some liquor. You can tell a human stops pondering existence the moment they have a drink. I am actually kind of wasted while I tell this story. So, if you ever ever come across a human being while, say, you want to feel the warm sands of Debusi beach on Acaparat 5 and smile, say nothing, just nod to whatever they utter and ask them if they are in the mood for a drink.

It was 30.986235 of the Galactic calendar when the ship finally came out of wormhole H60F1nn. Nef and Jo were tired of all the rumbling from the jump. The stupid gravitational wave generator of the wormhole had not been mantained in quite a while, and you could tell. Unless you were a Glazconian, there was a huge chance you end up as nauseated as a flea would after a spin in a dry washer. The ship was on autopilot, so the whole crew decided, why not, to have a go at the bottle of vodka they got at their last stop. It had been a hard mission, and everyone knew Jo would go all existential on their ass. Before he could say anything regarding the last Kierkegaard book he had read and how anxiety did not help but causing more anxiety, especially in this huge, endless universe, someone had already opened the bottle and everyone had a drink and said, Blisk. Blisk was how you said cheers in Glazconian, which was the language of a race who discovered fermented alcohol as means of entertainment before even the most basic of the languages based on grunts came out of their lips.

Jo was sitting by himself at the end of the bar. He was looking at the empty glass in his hand. While he was on Earth, he had the dirtiest, nastiest habit a person could have while holding a bottle of beer: he peeled off the label, leaving crumbs of their boredom or angst as if a hideous Hansel had sat there a minute ago. Nef was reminded once again of how glad she was the Galaxy government had forbidden any single type of paper, plastic or plasma sticker on any kind of bottle cause, why would you do that when glass engraving was so craftingly done you could read the whole Illyad off a bottle of champagne? Without turning around and looking at him through the mirror every bar in the known universe had to have -admit it, only jackass establishments don't have a mirror right behind their bar- Nef asked Jo if he was alright. -You know, I just wanna go home... I feel so stretched out, like if I had been living too many lives instead of one... I, I... I 'm not even sure what I wanna do when I get home, you see? It's just tiredness like when... The Captain, Markees Ellon, ran as fast as it could to Jo and filled his glass. -Drink, boit, drink, cause we are going home and we can have a quiet time relaxing before the next job! Markees wobbled back to the rest of the crew not before hugging Jo and saying Blisk to both him and Nef.

-You know, Jo, we oughta go home, at least for a month. And I don't mean... Like actual home. -We are on our way, so stop pestering me..., said he, smiling. He knew what she meant, and she knew he knew. Of course both did! The kind of bond they had developed these last 5 years while traversing space, being the only 2 of their species they ran into, made them comprehend and care for and read and even love each other like they never could had they stayed on Earth. All those years Nef had grown to love and desire Jo before they left Earth were like child's play compared to what she felt then. She did not lust for him any longer. She had a deeper appreciation for his existence: she understood Jo was just a bunch of atoms put together by happenstance, and that such happenstance was limited, and that some time along the way it would end, and that it was her duty to enjoy that accident in the shape of a red-haired human for as long as possible. All this space travel did not make their lives longer, but by the advantages of the bending of the space-time continuum bending required to create and use wormholes, time to them seemed to go more slowly. Time appeared painfully slow at, well, times. Unless they were together. I mean, time was still slowly painful, yet enjoyable. And I don't mean enjoyable like a comedy film in the background while a dentist drills the shit out of you. It was more like the warm embrace of a good friend when you lose a loved being.

-We are arriving on Acaparat 4 in 5 hours if the next wormhole isn't as busy and as crappy as the last one. I just wanna shower and take a long actual nap, Nef, before we travel to Debusi on 5. Then, when we can forget about hussle work and house chores, then we can talk about going to Earth. Nef, nodded and said nothing. It had been 2 Earth years since Jo last said they would talk about going home. Actual home. They never did. However, Nef still believed him this time.

Of venting and why I should not felt cold

It is August the 17th. I am 45 years of age. And I just froze. At the chance of opportunity. At the atonement from comeuppance. I am socially crippled, I have told myself oh so many time that the best I can is good enough. However... Dreaming might at times be the beginning of what lies ahead, you know, the fuel of being able to alter one's surroundings by life starting to feel as if it were in motion. I was actually dreaming of something similar some days ago while in the shower, feeling the cold water running down my body, while I was smiling, while I was hoping for a tiny bit of hope one of these days, you know, like I was falling off a 25 story building and out of nowhere a giant cushion just popped up and saved me. Like the airbag in a song. Yeah, I have told myself all them last 5 years that I am ready. I might have been, but I will never know. Not until I go down crashing and burning and an utmost, haphazard piece of luck lays eyes on me I dare say something.

Beer is so good at me, I reckon. It softens the blow of being clumsy. It makes singing outloud easier. This brief moment in which I sip it washes it all existential fog away. Yes, I did squat. Yeah, I looked forwards as if nothing was happening. It don't matter. I can dance and keep drinking until the future is a simple tense.

Don't you say you weren't moved... I mean, he saw you. Discretely, but he did. Did you not feel like blushing? Like what happened the other day was not an accident and you looked at each other and wished you were closer and felt a soft tingling in the skin like when the guy you like whispers how they would like to kiss you if you knew who they were and they knew who you were and still being complete strangers since you could not know each other's names and you would think this is not you and how you should not do this cause this is not you... Yet it is exciting, isn't it? The bare feeling of desiring a stranger right then, right there, without pondering if you would ever meet again. Who cares, right? Who the fuck cares when the moment burns every single inch of skin and you can only melt?

I melted. I am still.  

A oscuras

¿Quién dice que el destino

es cosa de cuentos?

¿Quién dice que morir

es cuestión de vivir?

Se detuvieron a observar

el árbol, el árbol rojo,

Se unieron y por supuesto

Jamás de desunieron.

¿Cómo es que eres una voz sólo y a la vez tan tangible? Cual tormenta a la distancia, tanto que no siento su brisa, ni lo terrible de sus truenos. Despierto torpemente siempre, balbuceando que quisiera estuvieses aquí, con lo de la otra noche apenas audible, causando que me funda en tus susurros. Y los días no son días, de aquellos mundanos, porque habitas en esa parte de mí que guarda los resquicios de tu voz. Y los días son días tachados en el calendario como si hubiese un día en el que te pueda volver a conocer. Tú decidiendo que tal vez deberías hablarme, saber qué hago, si llueve porque has dejado tu ropa a la intemperie secándose. Y yo te contesto, te digo sin sentidos, y te pregunto si me darías tu teléfono. Así cruzamos palabras de sol a sol, hasta que la noche se torna imposible.

Entre el silencio de mi casa y el mar que es tu risa decido que quisiera tenerte. Bañarme en tus pechos, perderme en tu sexo. Sentir el cielo oscuro de tu pelo. Temblar al probarte mientras rasgas mi cuerpo. Tu brisa en mi oído. Mi arder hasta desbocarme.

Me levanto a leer lo que he escrito anteriormente. Baladí. Tieso. ¿Por qué me empeño en hacerme creer que todo antes de ti ha sido real? Los fallos en mi memoria me han orillado. Bailaba hasta el hartazgo. Sentábame a escribir lo primero que me cruzaba, pretendiendo que alguien leía por encima de mi hombro. Dulce, parecían decir.

Hoy. Hoy me siento frente al computador a tratar de escribirte. Porque como decía Benedetti, te tengo y no te tengo. Tan tangible en mi pecho. Tan etérea por debajo de las cobijas. Soñé que te besaba y que no. Soñé que te ibas antes que llegaras. Que sonreías sin razón, y me mojabas con tu voz. Y que te cantaba al oído de mi cuarto al tuyo que el cielo está pintado con diez mil lunas.

 Sparks turning into flames...