I Really Want To Not Think About You
I stay in this bar wondering how much I would be able to pay for forgetting. I don’t feel sorry for the clothes; I would sell them all and get naked. It can’t be any colder than what I feel right now, and the cold wouldn’t force me to rest any longer than the pain I keep in the space between my glass and my lips. Invisible and levitating.
It burns more than pure alcohol and holds the deceitful hope of pain, like drops falling on a stone. I imagine two worlds separated by a huge precipice. In one you are and in the other you are not, and I have the feeling that I cannot live in either.
It’s not the first time I fall in love
And that’s how I met him; he was behind the counter and I was trying to find an end to my drama. He thought I was drowning the pain and I put myself in the shoes of the character I later imitated. Word for word, letter for letter.
In this character, I locked away all my fears and the words I used to make her caricature, but they only served to make them escape through a place I don’t know. Now I find myself in another bar and heartbroken into a thousand pieces, so small they make me invisible.
I’m like a cruel truth, someone you would introduce only after you’ve discarded all possible ideas so you don’t have to. So you don’t have to get to that moment when everything explodes into the air and you realize there’s no going back.
In the meantime, you try to find a way to tell everyone that the person who until yesterday you defended to the death is no longer the same, and you can no longer do that because that role no longer belongs to you. It’s like that, little by little reality is imposing itself, it arrives like the waves on the beach and between tide and tide there are nights to think about.
Without looking at my watch, I suddenly have the feeling that it’s too late and that the waiter who started cleaning the last tables will not be the inspiration for my next life.
However, a horrible laziness invades me. Walking home with an eye on what’s behind me, opening the door, taking off my clothes and warming the cold sheets imposes a daily routine in my world that worries me.
I pay with the daily rounds and go out into the street. It’s frozen and easy to slide. I see a lion drawn on a lighted poster and wonder what I would do if I went out on a date now. Then I remember that I’m invisible and nothing could make me care.
A voice inside me calls me a liar. The tears start, one by one, making tracks on my cheeks. So, as I break the silence of the streets with my footsteps and recognize a little piece of my heart as mine, I begin to fear the lion.
As I realize that life still has things to take away from me, I come to the conclusion that there are still things to live for.
Image credits: bruneiwska
