The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you
not knowing how blind that was.
Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.
They’re in each other all along.
First the smell, the sounds of the water, the way the greens look when the sky turns white. First all of this.
Then, where I am. Maybe I always came to stay. The truth, I knew I would come back, some day… and yes, it’s not the same, but I fell in love five years ago, and who knows, I might be back in that place again.
Yes, there is la crisis, and yes there is clambering for independence…for which, I am for… why not? Do we take all our political decisions so seriously? Don’t we change our minds ever couple of years or so? Don’t we look for excuses to make wars and draw lines and separate ourselves until we are all alone?
I don’t want to make a lot of money. I don’t ever want to be rich, or have a big house, or lots of clothes, or a car or cat, or ownership of object-shiny-things.
I want time. I just want more time.
More time for sex, and poetry; For sitting on the steps of churches with freshly cracked cans of beer; For counting stars as you float thousand of miles from shore in the middle of the ocean; For smelling his cooking; Or falling in love with the pure way in which the little ones laugh; Or the way your father still knows how to push your buttons; Or how your sister or brother or friend, loves you.
If I could just build more time, light it up like a candle and let it grow, as a flame, and then somehow find the chemistry to keep it burning for longer than its wick.
Perhaps there is no magic.
Just this sensation of light being brighter when there is no sun. And seeing in our eyes the simple same-ness we hold.
Just this frame of time, and the way we wake up to find the first rain of Fall.
“He told me: No Cigarettes.
(Unless it’s integral…)
No Exercise…and Go to Bed Early, by 10pm…at the latest…and, well…”
“…and bueno, the fucking buzzing in my ears is still there!”
“…too much integral sugar perhaps?”