I’ll know how many freckles he’ll have

Next time I’ll be able to write odysseys of how she pronounces her S

I’ll memorize all the laughs he’ll let me hear

I’ll learn all the colours that she doesn’t like in the world

I’ll study the lines of their hands to make a map of our reunion

I’ll know which eyelashes are older than the newer ones, and I’ll name each wish: "Please don’t leave."

I’ll kiss each petal that bears the memory of how he tied his shoelaces in three different ways

I’ll jump all the odd numbers of the hopscotch to know what music put them to sleep

I’ll scream in every avenue of green light to know what name she gave herself

I’ll stay in the silence of mass in order to see every wound they forgot about their body

I’ll translate every Latin to Romance just to know how he cooks his lunches

What I’m

saying is

that

I’ll sit thousands of hours in the rain, thunder, and hail in order to know how she called me before she knew me.

TA.

I’m sitting on a cliff, which is a stair (it will always be and is a stair) I have the cigarette in my throat, the fire is my fingers and the cancer is my life. 

People pass by (or not) (I don’t know) (A lot doesn’t matter now) and everything is happening in a heartbeat of a heartbeat (of another heartbeat), and I’m wet, dirty, defeated, tired, yawned upon and murdered. 

I’m sitting with my legs shaking, my veins singing and my bones burning, I am “Enough, I’m done because every night thanking God for another day feels like a confession I never wanted to make.”

And that’s why I’m sitting on the stairs that take me to cars that lead me to death and pain and break and end.

And you wanted to know how it is, but not how it looks, so still, at this moment of my life my smile is sewn, and I’m sitting with an absence in my chest. People happen around me, and I’m destroying myself because it hurts to feel my blood run, to hear my heartbeat, and to be the witness of all, and for that, I’m sitting. 

Because it’s an electric chair, that if I move I die, and I’m a statue without money, that doesn’t blink, breathe, or call for attention. Because the lion is the Grim Reaper and the gazelle, it’s me sitting and traumatized by everything that I know that I don’t feel, but that frightens me. 

TA.