Last night

My sweet, you called last night and you were drunk. 

You were crying. Sitting in a street corner all alone because people had abandoned yo. And I was in another town, we were missing each other once more. 

Yet, my love you didn't call me because of that. You called me because you were afraid. You say you saw your friends jaywalk and that you thought of me in big avenues and green lights. Of subways and yellow marks. Of the ocean that is as deep as your eyes and my feet that are always so near to falling. 

You called me because you thought I had died and you were afraid. Afraid I had done it while you were out having fun. Afraid that I wasn't joking the last time I said it, afraid you hadn't done enough, afraid you were too late. 

My darling, it took hours. It took the sun to come out for you to stop crying and to, believe me, I was alive and you weren't drunk enough to invent me. That I was talking and you were listening. It took even longer to get you home and let you sleep. I had to keep talking until you closed your eyes and made promises to call you back. 

My Pehuajo, last night I had drunk half a bottle of vodka. Let the cat out of the house and was about to open the gas when I got a late call from a lost friend. 


T.A.