Buscador

viernes, 7 de agosto de 2015

The distance that separates us- CR VocalesV



There were so many things to say in those days full of rain and free beers. My head spinning, cold and distant, as usual. Your head buried in one of your books: sing me a song, just sing me a new song. Your nights were longer than mine, I wonder how many hours did you watch me sleep, did I look so cold and distant then? Coffee in the morning, I hated black coffee but I loved to hear you talking. Goodbye! Au revoir! And the peace of loneliness that we both knew and appreciated so well...We both had the smell of those who have no future. It was deeper than dying. What should I say to the older me, years from now? I'm so afraid of the older me, I don't want to think of her, so old, so wasted, so full of alienation. I will have nothing to tell her. My brief moments of inspirations are attached to the littlest things, like a dead bird in the middle of the road or the smile of a man who is about to die. Little things never made great poems and I'm part of the first. I tried to photograph a crow that reminded me of you, but he wouldn't let me, so I chased him, I chased him until exhausted, we both drank water together. I guess that's what people mean when asking me to pursue my dreams. I have left it all behind and I feel lighter than ever, but my character is prone to defeat and desolation and there is nothing I can possibly do about it. There's so much solitude when the music stops. I'm afraid of being left alone with myself. One night I danced with you on a boat, the band was playing tango, it surprised me how easy we learned to move together, you grabbed my hips, squeezing, and even though none of us knew how to dance tango, the band asked us not to stop and they played another song; then the owner of the boat announced that what we had looked a lot like love, and we laughed kissing, holding love on a leash, submissive and prisoner. That was before you found me bleeding with a knife next to me: 'love is bleeding' I said with a weak voice, and you hold me tight waiting for an ambulance. That night I dreamed of you and me in a yellow combi crossing South America. I'm mixing the stories but I talk of the same person. You saw it once and you will see it again: the distance that separates us is death.

CR- VocalesV


No hay comentarios :

Publicar un comentario