7. I said otherwise, but it was what I meant. I said as I had predicted, the same words, almost, I said one night without you can imagine that behind all my words are your name, behind my hopes and fears. Words I thought and learned in one night, between a cigarette and one with your face in front, from a distance, your disembodied voice filled the empty sad that my department. I pause.
For days I stop and write anything. Long days when I think over and over again in the vacuum of my department. Sad days that I can easily understand that it lost in the depths of illusion, that old loneliness that was my partner has become frightening. I realize that I could not, despite having been with her so calm, return to the world or the experience of a huge empty room with only my footsteps resonate and phone sounds never go back to view with indifference the computer, cigars and even this pen with which I write because your name is behind it all, above all, synonymous with everything.
Your Name wrote at length on a bench cold Coyoacán, with trembling hands and the heart stopping. I wrote your name along to you hopefully want to become eternal beyond ink and paper in your life and mine. A I love you, Salua, which will hopefully guide my steps and my pen for a time without end. Your name and I love you, Salua that summary easily return all my hope, that hope is all the more frightening than the loneliness because at first just a little to be happy and happiness is complicated at every turn, with each clock tic tac.
hurts Hope, hope scares. For weeks or months was sufficient, but you knew, to write lines and lines with no intention that they have come so far now. Enough to hope that one day, even by mistake, you saw me write your name and I love you. Hope your smile, your hand in mine. So much for my hope because I could not think of a hug or a kiss. He spent days pondering words, thinking you and only hope to write your name and your smile drove me forward in this world.
And finally I said, and my hope for peace died also fulfilled. Short sentence to close your eyes and look in memory a way back to that night, which could well be my first night on earth if God existed and had allowed me to choose. I write and reflect. The first night when a message from you invited me to see as never before had I looked.
was your fault, I repeat. But it was also my fault. You called and I answered. Crazy excited and accelerated to reach you with the same desperation with which one seeks to choke the air medium or when returning from a blackout. I watched from afar, I walked with slow, easy bebiéndome the image of your body as well, distant. It was the last time you see, was safe. If I dared to tell or read you what he was hiding a week would be the last time you see it. So I looked calmly and walked slowly. It was my last drill before the abyss, the lions, my last joy before losing paradise.
hoped that words and words. Despaired of being able to say your name. Expected, up beforehand, that extinguished my voice said that only words and that words do not change the world. Expected from wounded for life and not see you again. I knew he expected a long goodbye that Sunday would never come. And so with mismo miedo del último paso hacia el cadalso, me acerqué a ti seguro de que sería la última vez, de que la luz estaba a punto de apagarse. Y contra toda esperanza, como en un sueño, sonreíste y me abrazaste. Por ese acto único, sencillo, pensé que acaso volvería a verte.
Me guiaba entonces, como ahora me guía, la esperanza de una revelación final, de un tiempo más allá del tiempo que me permita discernir al fin si el salto de esa noche hacia el vacío de la incertidumbre fue un salto de héroe o de idiota. Si me espera la gloria pírrica de morir luchando o sobrevivir sin gloria en el silencio de un departamento vacío, junto al teléfono que no llamará again with your voice. We support
. Both endured long time. I smile at the memory, to write. Endure hours with a coffee and silent steps in the empty streets. Invincible even endure the distance between your hand and mine. It was my fault because I gave up first. I had to put an end to so much fear and so many dreams, once and choose between light and darkness. It was my fault because I needed to know, as now, if they were just words or words could break the invisible barrier between your hand and mine. The bitter separation of our lives.
Another pause. A sip of coffee. A sigh. And behind my eyes, your smile closing the eyes.
Days later I say I read very quickly, my voice was in despair at an end. And it's true. Are words also tell when I have finished reading the variations of a jerk sitting next to you and spying on your face to my left as always, watching your smile and your eyes on a cold and lonely in the neighborhood of Coyoacan. Days later you talk about your smile, leaning out of your mouth much more often than any of my dreams and my hopes I had promised. All that will come later. For now, this now resurrected with words and relive while still moving the pen, my hands tremble now, I read too fast to know if at the end of the maze awaits your smile or your game.
Now smile. Now you miss a nervous laugh that is perhaps of emotion but I feel like condescension or pity. Leo quickly and until the end as he swallows bad medicine or hastens the full glass that promises to cure alcohol oblivion. The last words escape me your mouth and your smile. I have a lump in my throat and I tremble beyond my control. Then in front of you, but now, looking back and writing. Do not go, I said, I tell you now, I write, I pray at the same time. Do not go without you there I told you once and without end. Silence. Distant voices at night. A cold wind and silence.
Silence.
Silence.
not get out. Do not stop looking at me. Do not move. your hands there, closer, farther away than ever. I tell my story, your story, without saying much, hastily. The story is that I dreamed of you and started to write, all this, every word and every change is for you. Missing you say. I do not know if I smiled, but I like to think so. I can see your face, but I'm sure you smiled when you said, it lacks the sixth. I kissed his hand, take a deep breath and said I love you, Salua, and although I know that can not be happy forever, I am willing to leave the body in the daily war to make you happy. Smiled. We hugged. Then you said:
are words
(and here, suddenly, I wanted to die)
but the words are magical at times,
(I wanted to live, breath again and I kissed the hand)
are words, and said it wanted the world will turn off. You said what I thought I'd say not as I thought I would say, and so plug in an instant all my fears and my hopes. Thus, for our fault, I wanted to write and starter-starter-us happiness for the rest of life. You gave me, or give away-we look confident each day during the last world or self.
We hugged, walked more. Someone saw us looked at you surprised. We did not want to part. Rather, because I know nothing and I can not know it needed a second voice, yours, and would not leave you. But at last we parted, meet again sure.
Driveclaims. Smoked. I was happy. If I sleep and not wake up if not sleep, I sleep again. But I had to lie down and close your eyes and there in the dark, like a devil crawling and jealous, my words came to my ear and opened my eyes as if from a nightmare, sentenced to spend the night on his back, frightened child in the dark. I told him and now for the first time I am writing to never forget it. As in that night and every night since then, I get bitten to pieces the heart when I say or write: you have a boyfriend. And like a fiend, enemy accuser and honest, and I climb my words embrace the whole body. Poisonous fangs dirty my soul when the white snake of my guilt and my fear screams, whispers, swears, has a boyfriend, just before the bite.
For now suffice your smile and your hand in mine to keep at bay the poison. But at first just a little to be happy and sooner or later, nothing is enough. I asked him in a dream, before I knew. Now a white snake runs through my veins and bites over and over again my soul. Their venom can not kill my baby. But there are worse things. Maybe I'll go crazy. Or I kill me.
I love you, Salua, I said otherwise, but I am now writing again and a new way. I love you, and I'm willing to let the body and why the devil is always committed to white snake in my veins to see you smile.
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