By Jesus Diaz
“What are we?” I asked.
The girl in front of me thought a few seconds, her eyes were lost in falling leaves of trees due to the autumnal wind of Buenos Aires, and she told me: “I don’t know”.
Two hours earlier, we had made love.
Everything was unexpected. I had broken up with her two years earlier (I have tried to forget why, I just remember the feeling after her departure).
She was like a ghost. I grew old and she made me older. Not only it was the pain of her departure, was to rebuild my live without her.
I hid. I did not want to know about her, but her search was as a beat that was becoming stronger.
Her heart hit to my heart at Corrientes Street. She went to see a play and I to buy a book.
She walked slowly, as always. Her hair looked different, but her figure was the same (thin, long legs and shoulders back). Suddenly, she turned to me.
Time stopped.
The talk was unique, she was different, I was different, but we both knew that our search was over.
The hotels in the Corrientes’ area are not the best for lovers, serious lovers I mean, but it was the perfect place for two orphan souls.
I was shaking, and she knew it, especially when her trembling hand touched mine. What were we doing?
Her brown eyes became hazel, like honey, while my clumsy hands were unbuttoning her blouse. She looked like before but I could not recognize her, perhaps because with time her face became blurred.
I’ve tried to remember one word, a phrase used by both, but there was nothing. I just remember her hands swimming like fishes on my back, sometimes stormy, sometimes trembling.
And I kissed her. I kissed her like never before. And I explored every nook unknown, forbidden by my memories. And then she opened to me like the first glimpse of the dawn. We became one only person. One warm and pasional person.
I was not me.
Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt the wind grew stronger, hitting the fragile windows of the room. Hitting my fragile consciousness.
And happened. I began to feel a crying within me, a rain inside while I lost in her scent and I tasted her sweetness. It’s was the time, and I know it.
“Caresses can be painful?” I thought.
And I clung to her at the last moment, when our breathing faltered and some sounds pointless saying "I love you".
After that, everything was silence. My hands clung to her wet body, because I did not want to know about time.
Something was wrong. Obviously some people was in our bodies and souls, and with each kiss on our skin, they changed everything. Those injuries hurt us today. We are two strangers and we know it.
At what point I lost contact with her soul?, When she decided not to call? When she preferred not to think about the places that we renamed?
- “You don’t know?” I ask her finally.
- “You know?” She retorted me.
I nodded: “We are ghosts”.
It’s said that ghosts remain among the living because they don’t accept their departure. I accepted hers that evening, while I saw her lost in fog.
29 de diciembre de 2010, 15:38
La razón por la que estudié Letras españolas no es fortuita, hay algo en nuestro idioma "un no sé qué que qué sé yo" (podría haber aquí explicaciones de cada nivel lingüístico que honestamente me da w*va explorar en este momento) que lo hacen simplemente perfecto para la narración literaria. Tmb por eso el barroco es mi período favorito, además de las connotaciones ideológicas, es un momento glorioso del idioma. Pero bueno,¡cuánta paja! jaja!
Voy a dejar de lado el crítico literario (¡eeewwww!) para no hablar de la diégesis y la estructura jaja! y al corrector de estilo jajajaja! Escribir en otro idioma es más que loable ¡congrats! Así que, blessed, and cursed, those who can see beyond.