And how dare you be Sunday?

 

Listening to Chet Baker. Leaving you Sade Adu.

I wonder where you are, if you feel the wind in your neck, what color are your dreams, if you still keep your hands in your pockets, if you ever gave up on those other moments that made you fly, if you are still you, whole, or if life is biting you, if you still remember me or, what do you remember,  Have you preferred to forget, if you still compose music and lyrics and if, in the pulpit of a dream, you dared to take flight or, like me, you let yourself fall, give up, if you still know how to listen to yourself or if you diminish yourself to fit into someone's picture, if you still vibrate with the joy of children or if, on the contrary, you have arranged for yourself an ordeal where to unravel pains and illusions? What do you do with your life, the loves, the passions, the flavors and smells that you accumulate through life? What recycling center do we have to invent to leave parts of us, or which ones do we keep dragging down?

Everything leads me to you, everything that previously prevented me from revisiting you, prevents me from postponing you, from the lack of courage, from the boldness that was mine, to fight for what I wanted, and from the fog that clouded my sight, that weighed on my body, of Pluto tearing other paths, of Mars asking me to go and get you,  that I resurrect you, that I may be a vessel in your ocean, I have pulled you out of the fog, and I have given you the place that belonged to you, fleeing does not solve, it only postpones, and you have come from the end of the world to frame the seconds of this life, from where you have previously deserted. And if my father died at thirty, pure and clean his death, who had better luck than mine, who at twenty-nine I died and I am still here, to be buried. You don't confide in me about the skeins of your dreams, the nuances of your desires, what you had to give up, where mine flowed, what color your eyes are today, when you are sad or when you go to see the sea, if you still have hopes or if they have been withered, if you entertain yourself in the longing for yours or if Don't you prefer to think? 

I wanted to see you, "just" to see you real, not in an old and worn photograph, oh I wanted much more than that, but I continue to deceive myself, to crawl, to beg, that I want everything, to wake up and fall asleep in your arms, and because dreaming is necessary, I wake up between the embarrassments that are my arms without yours, returning to the sea of sargassum and the aroma of the sea air between rocks,  where one day you will come to rescue me, one day, one day, on that day not a leaf will break from the ground, not a human blow will interrupt the heaven of the blessing that will be to embrace you. I save myself for that day. I push myself into that century, I save the stamina, the anima filled with music! Heaven will certainly join the earth, in an urgent embrace of a long time. It was time for God to hear my prayers, beggar of your past affection, beggar, without threshing floor or edge, but a queen, when you are in me, when you hug me and whisper to me that I am yours, that I have always been, that it was all an interval, time passing by quickly, the beating of life, one crack after another,  My prayer, my rosary of tears reaching the cove of kisses that you owe me. 

You are in me much more than just being with me. And the life that is this brief passage, this train full of carriages, reminds me of the halts, the crossroads, the changed lines, the giving up of me, and the yearnings that were born when I waited for you and you didn't come! I don't wait for you anymore, now I'm just going to get you, my melted patience can't handle the interstices and temporal pauses.  I want you whole, I don't just want the signs of your passage in me, I want you for yesterday, I want you. Period.