Letter to my love

My Love,

Two weeks have passed since the last time we saw each other, it isn’t long for us, although, it always feels like it's been since our death. But that changes when our corners collide and there you are with your cigarettes and me with my tea.

It's to skip a second and I have summoned the ghost of you, and I'm looking forward to you harassing me with the torture of your existence.

And this time I write to you because the other day I  heard you asking if I loved you or was playing and I must say that that is stupid. 

Because if I cared for someone it was you, it is true that I loved before and that I liked several, that It's hard to deny and I would not lie to you, 

now, 

Want?

No, only you. 

And that is more difficult, more complicated, is to see your faults, your bad temper, the short-legged lies, the lack of time management and the sick positivism with the fear of contaminated friendships. 

It is power to see them, recognise them, deny them to accept them as your beating heart because if you didn't have that madness you wouldn't make me lose my mind.

Of course that at one point I thought about it, 

the idea of planning, changing your opinion of the world, lowering your high walk and giving yourself a 360 change.  Highlighting faults and achieving a new look of yourself, of stopping your comments about Tigre and the music that you like. 

To make your broken laugh sound like ice cream during summer, to make you know the definition of space and time to let the lies down. 

All this I considered it, and more.

The problem was born My Life when I remembered how they did it to me and I saw the wounds in my being that still did not heal. 

And I could never do that to another living being, less of all to you that makes me want to live more than what I have ever wanted and more than anything. 

Because one day I saw you, with a frown, bitter words and cold touch. 

One day I met you in one of your worst and you had only woke up. 

I didn’t like it, I recognised it, and it hurt, it made me sad and 

I knew

I couldn’t, 

I didn’t want to ever change you.

It is true that they have asked me why I like you, 

you are not the easiest person to love, you have a complicated personality, that brings doubts and conflict. 

You have a maze as a mind and you are open to admitting it. 

You are cocky and annoying, with too much energy and an enigma with answers. 

I know all the reasons why my friends keep asking me. 

Yet 

I  know that I'll shrug my shoulders, look them in the eye and tell them that you make me laugh. 

And believe me, that is difficult.

You make me laugh with weak laughs. 

With stupid smiles on the lips. 

Hands-on the stomach and open mouth and eyes that shine freedom and forgetfulness of life. 

You make me laugh as if I did not know of the pain and broken heart, 

you make me laugh a new air.

I know you must have one and a thousand questions, I am not an easy human being, nobody is. 

I have never given you the evidence to believe me when I tell you that I care, that you are on my list, that I love you and could not hate you. 

You have the right to doubt and question my actions, to avoid and to fear my playing with your heart, but

 if you only saw my smile during another of your jokes,

at my look at you when you leave, 

at my way of mentioning your name between my friends and my dreaming about you. 

You would know it without questions to think. 

But that would be asking for a rainbow at night.

So please do not hesitate, 

read my letters and understand that I love you,

that the laughs are yours,

that my unfinished poems are for you 

that there are secrets that I keep to be able to tell you one day. 

And that among my first three wishes you are the first

Best regards,

T.A.

The twenty

I had my great depression at the age of twenty, with existential gaps, expectations never fulfilled and drunken kisses, my lips ached with false smiles, and lies were commonplace, and there was no magic in my youth, there were only headaches and green traffic lights, and love never beat anything, friends kept disappearing, people kept disappointing and I was still a simple human.

The twenty were the exam of my life, where the final question was: Do we continue? And I never had the answer, just kept walking, breathing, doing, and not stopping, because if I stopped, I started thinking and then everything hurt and nothing was silence and peace, and I just wanted it to stop.

My youth was bad decisions, sharp hands, lips with blood, broken cars and streets without lights, my beginnings were fuzzy and doubtful, and I still do not know how I am still alive.

T.A.

Fuck

Imbecil, I know that the ocean swallowed you and the cold came to your veins, I understand that the mind was screaming and the lips were stitched, I understand it to the infinity, because in the mirror I see it, but you are an idiot, because, Why?

My wrists bleed from the pain of my sins and my tears do not stop because of the pain of the soul, you are my brother in this, I understood it, but shit Why?

Now I only have traces, burnt crumbs, repeated images in various formats and all cold and detained, your voice I have in my memory but sometimes I forget, just a second, a moment where I do not know the fractions of your face and your smile, they are days, in which I only forget, and I cheat, I live, I breathe, I die, and I understand it again in the hands on the wrists but I still don’t.

T.A.

The explanation

I could never explain it to anyone. The tongue stuck to the palate, the sand on the lips and the mind was whiteness. It was always red eyes with the dead shine, it was evident in my silence, in the sadness of ten minutes. It was there, the sadness.

Although I would open my mouth, I would try. I would say a few words "He was more than…” "It is not so simple" "Motivation" and it wouldn’t make sense. And I would stop and leave the assumptions fly free. Broken heart, too much hope, illusion, stupid, distance.

I would only listen to them with the simple movement of my head. My eyes lost and tired of always the same situation and never the freedom to explain it.

I once had a dream, his name was Lucas. Black eyes, black hair, broken jeans and the laughter of Muttley. The boy that made me smile, he was recovering, he was better and worse, and we weren’t.

We were in a bed, lying down, talking, the lips moved and the situations were happening. And I told him, I told him in clear words how it was, the sound of my voice so raw, broken and small. My eyes would be stuck in his and they would be lost and frightened, crying. Desperate hands clinging to his shirt and ending with a simple and broken "It hurts."

And I would wake up with those words.

The attempts were shorter. The songs with memories erased and the name averted, the dreams killed. And it was only the eyes looking at dead spots, airless rooms and lies from the escape of bars. There were no longer Lucas or attempts, and there were only friends who said "Still?" and "I'm sorry". But still the lips were thirsty, the throat itched and the hands were anxious to say. To explain and travel four and five years ago, and no, it was never a life, but it was in the important year. It was in the distance, in first loves, in fears of the veins and pains in the chest. It was never an eternity, it was only years with silence and lost. It was always the action of breathing and anchor to the world.

And once there was someone. Between three years there was a person who knew the universe that was hidden in my tie, in my dreams. Although the universe laughed, he let himself be robbed and was stole and I had no one. I was left alone in the emptiness of a loss that could not yet be defined. Of countries with their salvation, of mountains and stairs, of hope in letters and of a muse in what little we had.

And when it happened, it was chest pain, tears on the lips, muffled screams and eyes closed with the horn of the cars. And only to beg that it was a lie. That it was a deception and that the day of the innocents was eighteen days later. It was not controlling the emotions and darkness in the room. It was sleeping with life. It was thinking that there were explanations and laughing at the reasons the hope hidden in the joke. 

For 364, days until accepting that it only happened you only bleed with alcohol and bitter words. Which no one could understand, nor accept and even forgive their own pain.

"I wanted you to know, that you understood, that you changed me. Three times, four times and one last time. That all that remains of you is daggers in the soul and cotton candy in the mouth. That the tears stopped running and the smiles they are short but present. I still run away from your name and I read less about you, but I have your picture with the traces of your face. 

I did not have much to start and now I have less, only ghosts and rumor. And it hurts me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Because you were an anchor, you were a goal, and I have no way of explaining it. In whom to trust, to say that you were a light in the ocean of tear. That I tied myself to you too strong and fast and now I'm hanging myself in that noose.

I wanted you to know that it took me six months to accept what happened. And that day I cried in a corner of a room too small and I never told anyone. The next day I faked smiles but inside I died accepting your loss and pain. That from that day forward was sadness and sorrow for you and everything. It took me three months to hear your voice again. To talk about your existence to accept that to this world, this life, this time you would not return.

I wanted you to understand, that you knew, that I regret. We demanded too much from you, we did not listen, we didn’t do more than we could, we did not take risks and we failed. I know that I was not someone close, known or located, I was lost in oceans of people. In distance of countries and known from screens. Which may be stupid, but still I regret everything. But I thank you. I thank you for keeping me afloat, for having been in my first love, in the loss of it. In knives in the skin, in lost friends, cries and tears, in laughter and goals. In which if there is constant is your name, I wanted you to know that in the eight you and I continue "

I was sitting on the edge, the bottle of tequila on the side. The cell phone without battery and the red eyes, the cold fingers. The jacket lost between the streets and the entrance door the cat lying behind m. It is a full moon night with the stars shining between the satellites and the passing airplanes. There I speak, there I confess and I hope that if you exist in some way if the memory of you comes upon this stupid confession. This is not what I wanted, that is not right, or what I wanted to say. But it is the raw thing in my soul on a 365-day anniversary and without anyone. I have dead stars and cold satellites with a dead being and one dancing with death.

I hope you understand.

T.A.

Lucas

The scent to bonfire, dry hands, thick hair, pale skin, marked veins, always the same four shirts, two steps above when you are standing and you smile with a satisfying sound, your motivation is the alcohol in your stomach, and cars are car races, your friends are a wall between you and me, you say that romance is what you look for and still you don’t see it, music is your language and your eyes drown in letter of books by dead authors, your mind is twisted and you like talking about it, the life in you is squeezed out of you and you know it, you are counting the minutes, seconds, days that you have left until you burn, and you go fast and far, in a hurry and slow, asleep until two o’clock in the afternoon, anger in the eyebrows and abuse in the backpack.

And I don’t know enough about you that could help me tell what particular thing of your awful personality I like.

T.A.

Bad descriptions

The drunk smile in honey, with the snow in the scorched earth, the darkness of the sunless clouds, rough in the bark of the trees, and if there are bad definitions for you are those, I want you to see, that I don’t know how to speak.

How do you expect me to flirt with you when you do this to me? Look at my eyes, my lips, my feet, my body, and notice, my voice that trembles, the always, anxious, obvious and pure desire that I love you.

T.A.

Lovers of the night

I remember red cups, kisses on the neck and races.

I still know the colour of your eyes (brown) and the way you pronounced your R (like the purr of a cat), I know, I just know, that if I say your name you will come (“It’s a promise”) I still can see you with my eyes closed, the corner of your mouth, the little tap tap on your dance, the curvy long legs.

I see you in snip and pieces, and I miss you, I miss the probabilities and the chances, I miss every minute and second, and I am in pain from the years that started passing, I am mourning from an us that we didn’t have.

I am broken hearted because of you, but I wouldn’t change the seconds that you stole from my life if it meant loving you again.

T.A.