Keys to the last supper... sorry last breakfast.

I actually started laughing. Maybe I shouldn't have. It was just the entire day, how could it get more bizarre? You saw me lighting yet another cigarette dressed up as a flapper girl. 

Why did you call me? You asked, and I realized I truly had no problem with being up front.

I didn't have anyone else to call, I knew you would open the door and I know your number by heart. I had been in this situation more than once, having no where to sleep is like falling off the bike or being in a car accident. Random thoughts travel across your mind (wait... my mind). 

When I didn't find my keys, I remembered the winter when I stayed in a hotel and the time I got off the first cab I took in Paris. Cab over hotel; 50-50 chances. I called you because I was sober, because I needed someone to talk about my day, someone that would stimulate my mind without making me feel like shit, I needed someone who would just ask me if everything is ok. You were the closest one to whom I could share my not-so-important undergrad student drama who has no "worries" no plans, no boyfriend, and oh yes "has not experienced real life" even after the fight even after all the pain... no... I am hiding the entire truth I just ran out of battery so I couldn't wake up my sister get in my apartment and make the usual international call... to be fair I missed our breakfasts too, but I did not fully miss you. 

You smiled at me and I guess you understood at that moment why my decisions had been like that over the past days, months... has it been a year? I hugged you as I would hug my best friend. "I am bipolar" I said as I started crying. I wish I had loved you, I am sorry if I ever hurt you, I shouldn't have kept you waiting, I just didn't know what to do with myself.

You started cooking our last breakfast date at 4am. We talked... we just talked... It is never going to be the same if you go to Paris, tu sais? I am not expecting it to be, that is why it is only for some months. Is this about the pub night? No, I wish it was just that its about everything... she said once that after a certain time of feeling constant frustration people loose themselves. I don't want to get into that point and I am two centimetres away from passing it. I am becoming depressive when I don't have anything to be depressed about... at least not that seriously yet. I am attached to Garcia Marquez' tree and I want to break those chains to develop wings and start flying away from this non-sense... I miss believing that those chains could be broken, my wings are being inhibited before they even start growing. 

The water did not turn into wine for our breakfast and I did not multiply the bread. You should sleep, you said. Awkward moment, seeing your room again felt like a new encounter to a new galaxy where I had not been. 50-50 chance tails you stay on my bed. I got the sofa, you said something about a bird. My mind was to busy thinking about self-control and the chains. You started talking about the myth of a bird sitting in the couch. "I don't get it", of course I wouldn't my body was melting in your bed. We finished our last breakfast; before my old spirit made room for the book ready to be closed. You are like la Malinche, Josephine. "No I am not, at least she did love Cortez" 

With that the door went into flames, one less chain remains, I am only 11 months away...

Merci.