Alone

We are born alone, we die alone. Company is only a mirage, an optical illusion in the desert of loneliness, the promise of a source of water that will quench our thirst for companionship.

Never

How you'd have loved the North Cape and the fjords and the midnight sun...

to sail across the reef at Barbados...

where the blue water turns to green...

to the Falklands where a southerly gale rips the whole sea white!

What we've missed, Lucia! What we've both missed. 

Goodbye, my darling.

- The Ghost and Mrs. Muir

I never cooked you a candlelit dinner, but I planned it. I planned the meal, every detail.  Homemade flan. A refreshing iced green tea. All made to perfection but only in the corners of my mind. 

I never gave you a bithday gift, but I bought one. A thoughful detail that was meant to make you smile but also stir the depths of your sentimental soul. 

I never dug beyond the surface, but I fooled myself, thinking that you shared with me instead of pushing me away. 

I never touched your soul, I never made a mark. I came and went as fast as a summer breeze. 

We never danced, soaking in sweat, promise of pleasure. I danced alone, lost in the music, trying to forget you. 

We never walked, bare feet on the sand, waves kissing our toes. I walked under the rain looking fruitlessly for your smile. 

We never took a picture, our smiles frozen forever in a piece of paper. But I kept your image imprinted in my mind and your body branded in my skin.

We built a handful of great memories but you cut me off, left me dry. And I wonder what it could have been. And I wish you would have given me an opportunity, an option, an open door. But you shut off, and I was left out. And I wonder, I will always wonder, what it could have been...But we never...

Promise

I am still hanging  from the warmth of your arms, the taste of your kiss. Wandering the streets, drenched in the rain, looking for your warm smile, following the scent of your skin. But I am only soaked in terrible disappointment, sodden with dispair. And I blame myself, for my wrong ways, for my urgency, for letting my mind and my heart drown in the tides of desire. I wished you for my summer when you were only meant to foreshadow my spring. I expected a promise that your lips could not fulfill. 

Words

The message. I cannot get it out of my head.  Beautifully written lies that will always reside in the inbox of my soul. Words are truly weapons of mass destruction. What a terrible liar you are. And you know it. And you don’t care.

I’m so hurt, I feel so betrayed. You might have tried to soften the blow but your darkness oozes among the niceties. Such a fallen angel you were! Still, you managed to blame me for mistakes that I incurred on, misguided by what you implied with your attitude and your words. You are not the only one that has an intuition. But my feelings blinded me and, even if I could see it coming from miles away, I still overlooked the red flags. They were everywhere.

I managed to write for myself a whole profile of who you were, of who I thought you were. I hate myself for it. I allowed my imagination run wild. Writing is a blessing, a catharsis. But trying to apply imagination to reality is the curse; it only leads to misguided decisions. Overlooking the reality only postpones the pain.

In your twisted note, you played the blame game, made me feel bad about not doing things that I did not know I was supposed to do. But most of all, I felt bad about falling too hard too fast. I am sorry that my feelings made you feel uncomfortable but I am who I am, I have a heart.  And I am human, I make mistakes. And no, this is not an apology. Because I am starting to believe you were planning to disappear all along. So funny I came across you again mere hours after the message. For the record, it was an accident; I did not do it on purpose. But of course you freaked out. Such a coward! You only replied to my plea because I appealed to your last remnant of conscience. Or maybe it was just pride.  Catching you red-handed reaffirms my belief that you do not have any integrity to start with.  And that the disappearing act was brewing for weeks. That break-up song was really an omen.

You left the best for last, the icing on the cake. I can only translate “different places” as “you were a great booty call”.  And that is rough because you are treating me as if I am stupid, as if I cannot read between the lines. You probably tried to soften the blow but the last few lines were even worse. You do not want to hurt me, but you in fact are doing what hurts the most. Suffering is not something you can avoid. You might not witness it, but it does exist. Yes, I am suffering. Probably more than if you gave me a chance, if you sat down with me and clarified, even labeled and tried to work with me towards a more satisfying solution. After all, you liked me... or so you said.

As I told you, I really want to thank you but this time not for your honesty, as there was none. I want to thank you for the short and amazing time we spent together, for making me discover great things, for opening new doors. And thank you for hurting me so bad.  You were lovely, but only in my mind.

Clean slate

I wish you were a stain to wash you off my pores, remove all your scent from me. I’ll pour ice cold water on my lips to cool off the warmth of your kisses. I will peel off the scabs of your scratches on my back and rub off the red mark of your last bite on my shoulder. I will scrub myself until my body is red and tender, hoping that your last caress, the one that was still hanging from skin, goes away down the drain with my feelings.

I wish you were an infection, bacteria entering my system. I would go a course of antibiotics and you would die off, almost instantaneously. But you are a virus, sneaky and cunning. You entered my being and now all my cells are compromised. You intoxicated my heart and my immune system is dumbfounded by the sheer force of your poison.  

I wish you were a tape to rewind all our story and start again. I would have done things differently, been more cautious, kept to myself. I would have saved a joke over your last words, the punch on my face, the door slamming shut. My heart literally sank when I read them, the pain was almost physical and completely unavoidable. My reason would have fought the unilateral decision but my heart was too ragged to follow my thoughts.  

I wish I could cut off the part of my brain that still holds your memories. I now hate my impeccable sensory memory and the images of you invade every resting moment. Your fiendish smile is ingrained in my mind, replaying over and over, burning so hot, hurting so deep, awakening all the emotions, the intensity, the almost spiritual connection that I felt.  And there is the key, I FELT.

There is no soap, lotion, gel, medicine, recorder that can wipe you off. Only time will cure my wounds leaving a nice little scar, another notch on the bedpost of my soul. All these memories will shrink, become less permanent, pop into my mind less often.  A year from now you will be a little speck on my universe. But deep in my heart I will still regret that, at some point, there was still the remote possibility of making YOU my universe. 

Battle

Can’t do it. Just can’t. I don’t want to become somebody’s toy anymore. I cannot give my body and keep my soul to myself. I am done with that emptiness. I want to be full.

So what do I do now? I just screwed up this whole thing from the start. I should have been a good girl. I should have kept to myself. I should have not given to the infatuation. Now that I am smitten, there’s no point on crying over spilled milk . Man up, baby, there’s “one action-packed battle scene” looming the horizon. Hooray for me!

Maybe I always get caught in the game because I never really knew how to play. I do not know how to train my soldiers, how to build up walls, how to mix the potion that fights this sickness. Even if I never was innocent enough to wear my heart on my sleeve, even if I never allowed myself to be vulnerable, once the switch is on the whole machine starts purring, building up to my undoing. “Casual sex” does not exist in my dictionary; somehow my heart always gets tangled in the proceedings. Too bad, I never detached it from my skin.

I do not understand chemistry without emotion. For me both are tied, hand in hand, ridiculously stuck together like siamese twins. And now it is even worse because it is so incredibly fucking excellent. The intensity that a feel every time I dive into his ocean of tempestuous waters awakens my senses and numbs my reason. It is just too much. I do not know how to deal with it. I do not know how to play this energy and stop it from entering my heart. I can’t have fun with it, I can’t forget that I have a soul.

It is so touching and disturbing but so incredibly pleasant to give in to his desire. To MY DESIRE. But it is not just that, it is much more. It is unattainable and unexplainable. I just can avoid to get invested when I get lost in his eyes, in the endorphin storm, in the sensory overload, every pore tingling, every brain cell hanging from his breath, his touch, his biting sensuality. There is no way back but a broken heart.

Or I could get ready for battle. Build my armor. Get in my shell. As if I know how to do that. Fake it till you make it. Maybe then my ragged heart will stop beating…or not.

Sensory Overload

Bitter, Bite, Bite her.

Atrapado en el verde,

notas rojas

deshacen el hielo

Hielo azul.

La larga pausa

y la paciencia perdida.

Dientes mellados,

mordiendo,

saboreando el calor

de una delicia

en carne  viva.

Tormentas de piel

y miembros,

llevados por la corriente.

Agua y agua,

manos rojas

que tantean los límites del deseo

rasgando la piel,

cuerdas, bendita música,

arracando alas

en olas de lujuría.

Vuela cual mariposa

en las mélodicas cadencias,

los tonos bajos, ávidos,

relucen

cargando las sonrisas

y los sueños.