A date with the pavement

Light... no control... the floor... restrained tears...

FEAR, HELPLESSNESS, SHAME, SELF-COMPASSION

pain... loneliness... stupidity... life-long flash-backs...

my photo, your canvas, her picture, our movie, his book.

Are you ok?, she says... thick Canadian accent

I... I am not sure, I say with my thick "Latin" accent

I did not look at her, I will never remember her face,

your voice is still in my head.

I did not accept her help, rode my bike once again

pain, tears, anger, self-blame, clumsiness, 

What the fuck am I doing with my life?

I pretended to ask myself, 

waiting to hear a "you've done everything right" 

one of those kinds of answers that are full of shit

The water from the shower mixes up with my salty tears

the pain is there, it will remain here

I like the physical pain better, it hurts 

but at least I know it will go away.

Big-time reality check:

The reality struck you right on your face, Mariele

your elbow protected you from the pavement

but whether you like it or not

it was the pavement what made you feel alive again.

Find Me

Phonecall at 5am... what time zone am I in again?

tears that don't stop; the weakness that has always been there

your mind, your heart, your hands, 

my feet, my stomach, my airless lungs.

Can't breath, can't think, maybe I should not speak.

No money to escape, "responsibilities" to fulfill, 

a long-expired unofficial promise that keeps me here.

My dried sentiments are exploding, absent thoughts, non-existent words.

HOW THE FUCK DID I END UP BEING HERE?

I cannot see you and it is obvious that I cannot see myself. 

My clumsiness made me lose my Auryn,

I have no army to fight The nothing

there is no Atreju, no Fuchur... just The nothing. 

I cannot hear the oracle and I can't wake up from this Ende-like reality

that has invaded my destroyed dreams.

I should sleep to see if someone rebuilds the hope

that we shared for so long; but I have been long gone;

do you remember how long ago?

Je suis perdue, tu n'arrives pas 

c'est quoi ton histoire?

3am international call

foreign nostalgia

domestic romanticism 

internationally-displaced love.

Plesse do not stop time

The same excuse comes up, Mariele, you go out for a cigarette. Can I smoke outside?, You say because you have to ask so no one would see your tears... everyone thinks they have more reasons to own those tears, even you... you who "have been there since the beginning". Many have more to say than you do, don't they? Then you cry, you cry because there won't be anything... again... this is the life you chose but you never thought it would hurt, did you?  Tears in solitude... solitude that you thought you were so used to it;  you were never by yourself, were you? But you pretend that you are so good in saying good bye, I will see you again, I will miss you, I was, You were. I was not, You were not, WE WERE and I COULD NOT EXIST WITHOUT YOU THAT IS THE FUCKING TRUTH, you constructed me in the person I am today and I am happy YOU did.  After four years I am glad it wasn't someone else. Will I cry? Yes. Will I be happy for you? Yes. I am not pretending; this is me... naked, there is no fancy dresses, no make up, no politics, finally there is no rhetoric, no catchy discourses, no words, no psychological excuses... this is the same girl trying to survive four years ago with no intention to be heard but desperate to hear what you had to say... the one who needed someone who could count on.... 

I will be alone and I will overcome not because I am too strong but because I know that if I want to see you again I know what has to be done. This is the life I chose, the one of  not setting roots, we made a mistake we started loving the blossoms of something that could not grow during several freezing winters, at least I know that our plant grows in the dessert, it doesn't needs water, it feeds from hibiscus tea.