Narrabeen

Y te quiero así, mio y de sofá. Tuya la cama, igual. Sacando algo del horno, tomando algo en el deck. Algunas veces más de allá que mio, pero yo la paso bien igual. Y por ahí en retrospectiva no estábamos tan mal. Que algunas heridas son difíciles de cerrar. Que en la hamaca era como volver a estar. De cerveza en mano y charlas volátiles. De asfalto y de vorágine. Que la primavera me iba a sentar mejor, de lo que me dejó parada el verano. De idas y de ninguna vuelta, porque al fin y al cabo ya no la necesito más. De edificios altos y casa casi campestre. De un ascensor que lo único que hizo fue subir. De caminos empinados que no llevaron nunca a la nada. De blanco sólo los dientes y tu mueca. De rojo las sábanas y de negro, después, el corazón. De solo, poco y nada. De sofá: nada y poco. De caminatas por la playa y ese lugar en especial, donde te da el sol a la mañana. De pijama o con lo puesto. Una semana de persianas bajas y grados altos. De esa maravillosa sensación de creer que todo lo puede. Eso que no le contaste a nadie, pero que iba a ser nuestro secreto. De esa lágrima que cayó y no era de café, pero era cerca. Descreer de todo y volver a armar. Uno por uno los recuerdos. Que se cayeron con esa taza, que se rompieron en esa caída. Que se derramaron en cada lágrima y lo que se perdió con la despedida. Y de vuelta otra primavera que me iba a esperar. No iba a ser la primera ni la última, totalmente convencida de eso. Un poco también vencida, porque otro invierno más no iba a tolerar.
Que se consensúe, que se termine acá.
Sin hablar y sin justificarlo; mio y de nadie más.

Y una sensación muy placentera después del film. Como si me definiera en algún sentido o me pudiera llegar a describir. Todas las potenciales historias resumidas en la nada. En unas fotos que pasan rápido, que nos pueden gustar más o menos. Pero a pesar de eso, qué jodido!
Qué jodida la interpretación!
Qué jodido a todo lo que se presta!
Qué jodido todo con lo que juega!
Un QUÉ JODIDO en mayúsculas y gritado.
Un qué jodido más bajito, como ya sin ganas, como con un poco menos de sentido.
Por ahí sí, un poco menos anárquico y haciendo las paces conmigo misma.
Que un poco de eso también tiene..al fin y al cabo, ¿no? Catársis o como se quiera llamar. Eso que raya, consiente y a la vez desmiente a todos, un poco y de cada uno. Que entiendiendo es la única manera de liberarla. Que queriendo todo se hace un poco menos jodido. O por lo menos está la esperanza y la ilusión de que así suceda..

For-export

Ridicously, never-ending love.
Amazing, not forgettable love.
Presential, undeniable love.
Touchable, non-regretable love.
Emotional, unconvinient love.
Fullfilling, unpredictable love.
Dazing, unconfusing love.
Butterflying, unconventional love.
Building, unclosing love.
High-maintance, no-escaping from love.
Comforting, unprecedented love.
Bonding, ungranted love.
Kind, non-surrending love.
Reachable, unrestricted love.
Profitable, non-mathematical love.
Completely, impossible not to LOVE.

Meet me halfway

Meet me halfway, please.
I'm not asking THAT much,
I'm just saying, would you mind telling me where we stand?
I was wondering maybe there was something I did, or something I say.
But I'm starting to think it's something I did not do, I did not say.
'Cause if not, I could never (ever) understand this,
not in a million years.
Arguing has no point at all,
'cause it lacks of logic.
All those days we were together, clearly, were an optical ilusion.
The naughtyness,
the filthyness,
the dizziness,
the discretion,
the shyness,
the guiltyness,
the speculation,
the willingness,
the mysteriousness,
the gladness,
and the spotlessness
of flirting.
We did an amazing job. We sure did.
Five shitty years filled the fuck up with the most amazing and unpredictable flirtation of all.
Five years of nothing, personified as one, as itself. As US.
Five years of as good as it gets,
as far as we went,
as relaxed as we were,
as spected as it could be,
as messy as it was.
How good my body felt against yours,
how syncronized we were both
how clumsy I was when you got nearer and nearer and nearer.
How did it feel when they talked about you;
and it was our secret.
And all those hopes we built,
all those bridges we destroyed,
all those fears we surrended to
and all of those who fought against us.
All those things we gave up,
all those things we managed to keep,
all those affairs we handled well,
and all of those times we missed the mark.
You knew I could tell with just looking through the corner of my eye
that whenever you saw me, you could not hide.
Where has it all gone?
Flushed down the toilet I guess
Better to assume it was that way,
or at least it's easier.
Then, neither one of us would be to blame.
Supposing we'd done things diffrently,
were would that have let us?
Me in?
Skipping the rough times
that would have made you out..
(Damn you and your fuckin' shell!)
Hypotetically speaking: we'd chosen different paths.
But we didn't,
and it wasn't.
That's why I'm so self-conscious.
That's why I still not quite get it.
And that's mainly the reason I'm so mad.
'Cause now everything is blury,
things on which I once counted on had dissapeared,
out of the blue we are no longer talking,
when I need to find you I don't even know were to start looking.
And even if I reach something important, I'm afraid I can not touch you.
Not any longer, not today at least.
I feel uncomfortable whenever I'm around you.
There's a thick wall
a cold, thick wall.
So thick I can touch it from time to time.
So thick I can not reach you, though I never try.
So this is me, trying:
meet me halfway, please.

Cut me some slack

Though I know I haven't been my best lately;
Though it may sound a bit odd but I haven't quite enjoyed myself the last couple of week-ends;
Though I reckon nights aren't what they used to be by your side;
Though I may have a flaw (or two);
Though just being an observer isn't my thing at all;
Though days are longer;
Though nights are lingering;

I wish it wasn't like this at all:
I wish I could dance freely
I wish I care less for people that isn't important
I wish I could get over you.
As simple as that,
I mean, really, cut me some slack.