Letter to Echo

My Echo,

Love has been elusive and selfish with me. I have bruises and tears as a story, I have burned photos and vices in my blood. In summary, I am in an overdose of what it has left behind, unfortunately as you know none of it has been kind to my situation.

You see if I could I’ll give you my heart to examine it and follow the veins with arteries that tell of Martin. He had a crooked smile and liked to destroy my principles and revolutionize me. 

It would be extremely easy to let you see Gabriel who made me laugh when my lungs were made of glass. When it was more comfortable to sleep than to recognise that my heart had left my soul.

There is a reason for everything, now I know that.

Eco had to love without correction to become the teaching of the romantics. Narcissus had to be banal and selfish to warn that the heart is a selfish and irrational organ.

They were sacrifices of their time so that we would be better. Yet, I am still in the room with your arms on my hip and we are in the kiss of which I regret having fled. I still have the words with which you called me and your name is alcohol in my lips. I had not yet learned from my predecessors.

My Narcissus, you left me with an echo that has no correction in my heart.

You have left me desolated and the city of La Plata is buried in the tears of blood from the pain you caused me. (I think that is why I had to move far and near you.) 

I dragged myself into three years of torture to get out of the other side with a cross that had been printed on my skin. It wasn't who you met, less who my mother raised and the one my friends wanted.

I came out as a different echo in distinctions that could not see us anymore. I had no more discomfort in my bones because your eyes were hungry, nor I had the lie on my lips because you didn't know how to speak truths. Now I knew how to say no and regret my sins.

It was never easy.

Cross the block twenty times, avoid friends, cut calls and burn my hair. It was torture to heal without you by my side. 

It was a war leaving the tree in which I hid to love you for a few seconds and years more. (I think if I went back there I could find the marks of my nails that didn't want to let you go.)

But if you could leave your reflection, I should let go of the ghoulish ghost that laughed when I wet the pillow in supplication for you.

My beautiful Narcissus, this is not our end, we are beautiful and terrible. We have no end, erasing your name from my lips has burned me. Spitting curses to your existence have destroyed my paths. And smiling at you when you spoke to me after goodbye has left me broken. However, we are mountains, we are lessons, the repetition of this century that is destined to happen. Since love is an addictive two-game that does not become old.

I am happy, I am impure and imperfect. I am yours who is sitting on a bench in the San Martin park giving us a standing ovation and closing curtains. But never an end.

Until eternity my Narcissus.

T.A.