Stars

"The stars are dead"

I tell him while he is lighting the fifth cigarette of the hour, we are sitting on the edge of the street, waiting for a taxi and a bus. 

Waiting to decide, we are between smoke and smoke, he is a city boy and I am a town boy, we are fighting tide and wind to sustain ourselves in this trembling land, with tall buildings and cloudy skies.

"yet they are beautiful"

He answers me while he passes me the last smoke, it’s being consumed faster than usual. 

He stops between street and street and lies in the middle of it, the beer we brought between the two is warm and dry on my lips. 

We fled from the people whispering in our ears of our fall, escaped from the hands that grabbed his hip and the kisses that chased my skin. We had met at the door and ran through avenues of green light.

"They remind me of us"

The bus and taxi arrive while he lighted up the sixth, at that time I received a desperate call from my friend,. we were doubting the decisions made, the ground was opening to choke us, and he offered me his hand, one foot inside and the other waiting for me.

The stars are dead and only their echo remains, that rupture of us remains. 

And he smiles at me, as the sun that defies the odds asks me to dominate the waves for him. 

He tells me that the stars shine against the forecast because they seek to be found, and we are at a crossroads when we decide to escape.

T.A.