Our hearts don't always turn off or on at the same time. Today I'm in bed, yesterday I was playing in the afternoon, enchanted by a breeze of spontaneity, soft hands with long fingers, belonging to the thin chinese girl Nessa. I didn't think of you, although I think I did in a subtle way, traveling to that Fusion food fair by the beach where I know you were. I endured the discomfort of the burning sensation and coughing, in the afternoon, at night, on the trip to the otaku shopping center and walking to the 18th floor to eat at a Chifa decorated with hundreds of fake plastic flowers. And I think that at night this flu got worse, the consequence of continuing and seeking company, and today I woke up weak and congested.
You know, in the middle of the night, around three in the morning, I woke up with nightmarish jolt, my throat blocked and gasping for air. Standing up, I coughed and took a deep breath, as if I wanted to live, as if in my nightmares the organic nature of sleep had cut off my breath. A way of inhaling clouds that might be around you while you sleep not far from my bed.
I think a lot about how fear and love oppose each other, and are sistered, and eventually also merge. You believe that coming together in a relationship is understanding that love and fear will become one substance between fingers and smiles. I think about you, at times, but I think to balance out the fact that you don't think about me. You know, it's funny, I have the chance to talk to you, you're just a phone call or instant message away, but I can't do it because you won't respond, or worse, I feel like it will make you uncomfortable if I do. You've given me signs not to do it, and so I concede to your refusal. But still, I think about you and desire you. Although it's not the same, my hope is dampened and remains restricted to an empty weight.
I found you after seas of sorrow and my heart mortally wounded, and that's also why Nessa, even though she loves me, and I love her too, we're not close when we close our eyes. Even with you, I don't have you, even though I've found you, beautiful November twin. There are few times left for us to see each other. You know I'm counting the seven times we have left. Seven within ten, and I have to breathe in the middle of the night so I don't drown, because the night demons also tell me something. I'll tell you one of their secrets: the lungs and the air are connected to sadness, and the light of sadness sometimes appears in the silence of dreams.
