SOMETHING YOU SAY THAT I WAS HERE
Curiosity overcame fear
and not closed his eyes.
he disappeared,
but his sentence was there ...
JLB
Finally, after all, is a sad life. I can not sleep and my job is to think about what I could do and did, in everything I could give and did not give. Today for the first time since we broke up two years ago, I'm a little slow and melancholy, like a cat at noon, as he suddenly finds a thing lost and forgotten for some time. In my opinion, the conclusion does not offer any resistance: now I forgot. Immediately, I mastered such conviction. And it does not seem reasonable to think otherwise. Now I forgot. No doubt it more. It is quite simple: I know, as no I'll know. Just know that it is. Begin, however, at the beginning.
At first, everything went wrong. And I knew from that moment everything would be worse. I did not mind, of course. As usual with me, I set out to prove it. Curiosity got the better of fear, rather shut my eyes. Moreover, once the love, so to speak, he fled down the stairs after shutting the door in his face, but not before told me he hated me and could not believe I said so many times, I never want to see you anymore, we've talked about this many times, do not know what you are surprised, I agree, but as you well know is not the first time tell me, so I propose a deal, damn, you're always the same, trying to convince me of something, I'm sick of you to make me believe I'm wrong , I began to mourn as a brat abandoned, inconsolable, because he understood that nothing would be as before. There are things that only happen once. Sara is one of them. I'm convinced. And this certainly deserves my trust.
Since then, my regulars for a few months he had been prowling our house, a tiny apartment near Central Park in which one person filled the room and the two became suffocating. It seemed the only way I could to find her. And it was, yes, it was clear that it was. He did not respond at all to my calls or messages, and the few opportunities in which we passed on the street address the thorny encounter with sudden outbursts that led to a window to another, changing sidewalks and storefronts. "Here is a new emotion to add to life," he said in such situations. Eagerly took advantage of every opportunity that offered to follow me through the streets, which for a time seemed to be every street in the world, walking around the city, around the world, from one end to the other on Fifth Avenue, for example, while Sara, joyfully going shopping, its undying purchases.
Fortunately, I remember very well a chance. I looked around. September with the last shining light that he had found the day. Were distributed across the sky like clouds cards among those clear blue scrupulously. Then I saw a woman crossing the street and I immediately thought that maybe it was true that looks like Sara and yet, was just sad that she was not. I stood staring for a moment. September, then smelled farewell to pools that are not in a cloud, sheets of newspaper on the floor of the city and daily wandering. But before anything, about all things smelled traces of women in every street, every sidewalk, in each tile, does not remember where. Sara smelled. I knew their steps almost by heart, like mine, but they went from me, the way of other steps, other lips, I thought, under an innocent sky never tired of watching, or look boldly, insurance of itself, first one after the other, or both at once, it was possible, that admirable pair of legs when they said goodbye in the rain, now, for it rained without discretion, with unbreakable energy. There was not a beam of light streaking the air between skyscrapers. Rain, distinctly heels, copy the steps, interrogating them, looked the same way, with its thousand eyes, endless apple green means paradise. Sara, but Sara was not, unfortunately, was white like a bird. But nevertheless, for me it was Sara, and this illusion I breathed new courage to tell her, because it was Sara and it was a white coat of halftime and a fresh smell of cologne that change the scent of rain and was a lime green wool cap under the shade of the umbrella light greened, among the rainbow of multi-colored bags. And nothing happened, it is true, but it all happened. I closed my eyes. I opened them. And it was, without the slightest suspicion, one of those days when you do not want to forget that has eyes. Then I saw Sara, excited by rain, with high heels and stockings as bait nets, bringing in irreparable bite soul, that mark before any night, we call love as usual. I pictured myself falling prey to memory and nostalgia, pure fantasy. Someone said, not without reason, so it must have been Eve. And then stressed ensuring that their eyes sparkled as bright blue swimming pools, as the blue flame of butane gas, and that his skin was golden and tender as anything only what is bread. Another said, biting her tongue in another way, that their lips colorful, unusual and red upper and lower open as closed as they were like two strawberries halved. Something. And I thought that rain, anticipating my mouth, he disputed his own, left a bad taste unprecedented in the lower lip, but also on the top. I'm sure. And today would be bearable, and even evocative, if all this were not within my pain so recognizable. The wind, from time to time, taking up arms as an Adam erect, with an expression of insatiable hunger, tugging the dress like a common assailant. Everything in his body became, inevitably, in an inescapable sign that he loved her as she loves a mirage, I dunno. And for a moment, I believed him naked in immortalized zebra crossing and I wanted with my mouth get dry her naked while that lasted the green light and the miracle of water stressed, perplexed and uncensored, embroidering his silhouette behind the flower dress torn, that flag suddenly wetting and that is transparency in their fulfillment more ineffable, more hope weakness of his underwear. And without knowing, or caring, where the hell was going, I walked after her small, gothic heels a few blocks until it turned left, a little later, to a square with pigeons and the statue of a conquistador. He paused to light a cigarette, touched up her lips with pink lipstick and stick his mirror and, as he was, colored cheeks. Closed satisfied the tiny glass case, he resumed his way, and almost immediately saw herself opening the glass doors of a pompous restaurant. There was expecting a man - I knew then - that kissed her half would have put me forward. And my footsteps, holding their breath, looking in time and space, and also wanted to live my eyes, staring, screwed his own, and my hands suddenly knew he was not. And before leaving, I looked into my eyes as Sara only knew how. His eyes were blue like a dart. I thought it was going to lose consciousness. At that moment I felt the blue streak of her perfume, the same I gave in our first anniversary. I mean, Sarah. I tried to breathe deeply. Then continued their march, led firmly by the arm of that man, that spectacular tangle of streets, mingling with the gentle stream of passersby. I longed for was the exact future of their prints. I stopped abruptly, and interrupted that I deemed as the unabashed joy of pursuing it. And I felt, for that matter, his irresistible good-bye to my body like an electric shock. For a moment I lost it. Then, while he sighed, recovered from the sea of \u200b\u200bpeople. I stopped to see a little later. Were, without my knowing (that I noticed later) the best times of my life. Follow it was so necessary as breathing. But how out of it? I am convinced that it was useless to continue the illusion that he had no other object than to produce a disappointment. I just found a way out. I decided to go home. Sara was recovering.
For some reason, just knowing that Sarah was out there in the odd place in New York, blonde and well, I consoled myself everything. The pretext was not important. Episodes came to mind with her remote, you helped me remember that New York was not just Manhattan, their presence labyrinth, and you had while we were walking the shimmering shores of the Hudson, insipid dialogue of mutual incomprehension partner about which of them wanted more on the other, Maybe they do not want me, I love you, how do you know?; do not know, sorry, I notice, how can you be sure that what you notice is that I want and nothing else?, I love you, and I can not believe I say so many times, I just look at you to be happy, do you really love me?; I love you like almost nobody has been able to ever want, but you would reject me, but do not want me or you would like to quietly, secretly, we would expect in any room where were you only see from afar, how may doubt what you want?, how you do not hesitate?, what real proof I have that I want?, yes, you say you love me, but they are just words, it is very easy to say I love you; What to do?, what do you show that you want?, do I have to kill to prove it?, I do not like that tone, do not be melodramatic, look, honey, stuns me, fed me, maybe it's not me want ... Now I know what I wanted.
Later (and I remember with horror), I left a crimson stain at the dawn without birds, and told me to not wait until night. I knew then that the dislike was a taxi away, yellow, slow, melancholic. My heart, an open grave in the middle of a street. And today, however, when rightly to be fair ...
... For three days, praying on the floor of the Brooklyn Bridge an eerie graffiti: Sara, what else is needed?
Curiosity overcame fear
and not closed his eyes.
he disappeared,
but his sentence was there ...
JLB
Finally, after all, is a sad life. I can not sleep and my job is to think about what I could do and did, in everything I could give and did not give. Today for the first time since we broke up two years ago, I'm a little slow and melancholy, like a cat at noon, as he suddenly finds a thing lost and forgotten for some time. In my opinion, the conclusion does not offer any resistance: now I forgot. Immediately, I mastered such conviction. And it does not seem reasonable to think otherwise. Now I forgot. No doubt it more. It is quite simple: I know, as no I'll know. Just know that it is. Begin, however, at the beginning.
At first, everything went wrong. And I knew from that moment everything would be worse. I did not mind, of course. As usual with me, I set out to prove it. Curiosity got the better of fear, rather shut my eyes. Moreover, once the love, so to speak, he fled down the stairs after shutting the door in his face, but not before told me he hated me and could not believe I said so many times, I never want to see you anymore, we've talked about this many times, do not know what you are surprised, I agree, but as you well know is not the first time tell me, so I propose a deal, damn, you're always the same, trying to convince me of something, I'm sick of you to make me believe I'm wrong , I began to mourn as a brat abandoned, inconsolable, because he understood that nothing would be as before. There are things that only happen once. Sara is one of them. I'm convinced. And this certainly deserves my trust.
Since then, my regulars for a few months he had been prowling our house, a tiny apartment near Central Park in which one person filled the room and the two became suffocating. It seemed the only way I could to find her. And it was, yes, it was clear that it was. He did not respond at all to my calls or messages, and the few opportunities in which we passed on the street address the thorny encounter with sudden outbursts that led to a window to another, changing sidewalks and storefronts. "Here is a new emotion to add to life," he said in such situations. Eagerly took advantage of every opportunity that offered to follow me through the streets, which for a time seemed to be every street in the world, walking around the city, around the world, from one end to the other on Fifth Avenue, for example, while Sara, joyfully going shopping, its undying purchases.
Fortunately, I remember very well a chance. I looked around. September with the last shining light that he had found the day. Were distributed across the sky like clouds cards among those clear blue scrupulously. Then I saw a woman crossing the street and I immediately thought that maybe it was true that looks like Sara and yet, was just sad that she was not. I stood staring for a moment. September, then smelled farewell to pools that are not in a cloud, sheets of newspaper on the floor of the city and daily wandering. But before anything, about all things smelled traces of women in every street, every sidewalk, in each tile, does not remember where. Sara smelled. I knew their steps almost by heart, like mine, but they went from me, the way of other steps, other lips, I thought, under an innocent sky never tired of watching, or look boldly, insurance of itself, first one after the other, or both at once, it was possible, that admirable pair of legs when they said goodbye in the rain, now, for it rained without discretion, with unbreakable energy. There was not a beam of light streaking the air between skyscrapers. Rain, distinctly heels, copy the steps, interrogating them, looked the same way, with its thousand eyes, endless apple green means paradise. Sara, but Sara was not, unfortunately, was white like a bird. But nevertheless, for me it was Sara, and this illusion I breathed new courage to tell her, because it was Sara and it was a white coat of halftime and a fresh smell of cologne that change the scent of rain and was a lime green wool cap under the shade of the umbrella light greened, among the rainbow of multi-colored bags. And nothing happened, it is true, but it all happened. I closed my eyes. I opened them. And it was, without the slightest suspicion, one of those days when you do not want to forget that has eyes. Then I saw Sara, excited by rain, with high heels and stockings as bait nets, bringing in irreparable bite soul, that mark before any night, we call love as usual. I pictured myself falling prey to memory and nostalgia, pure fantasy. Someone said, not without reason, so it must have been Eve. And then stressed ensuring that their eyes sparkled as bright blue swimming pools, as the blue flame of butane gas, and that his skin was golden and tender as anything only what is bread. Another said, biting her tongue in another way, that their lips colorful, unusual and red upper and lower open as closed as they were like two strawberries halved. Something. And I thought that rain, anticipating my mouth, he disputed his own, left a bad taste unprecedented in the lower lip, but also on the top. I'm sure. And today would be bearable, and even evocative, if all this were not within my pain so recognizable. The wind, from time to time, taking up arms as an Adam erect, with an expression of insatiable hunger, tugging the dress like a common assailant. Everything in his body became, inevitably, in an inescapable sign that he loved her as she loves a mirage, I dunno. And for a moment, I believed him naked in immortalized zebra crossing and I wanted with my mouth get dry her naked while that lasted the green light and the miracle of water stressed, perplexed and uncensored, embroidering his silhouette behind the flower dress torn, that flag suddenly wetting and that is transparency in their fulfillment more ineffable, more hope weakness of his underwear. And without knowing, or caring, where the hell was going, I walked after her small, gothic heels a few blocks until it turned left, a little later, to a square with pigeons and the statue of a conquistador. He paused to light a cigarette, touched up her lips with pink lipstick and stick his mirror and, as he was, colored cheeks. Closed satisfied the tiny glass case, he resumed his way, and almost immediately saw herself opening the glass doors of a pompous restaurant. There was expecting a man - I knew then - that kissed her half would have put me forward. And my footsteps, holding their breath, looking in time and space, and also wanted to live my eyes, staring, screwed his own, and my hands suddenly knew he was not. And before leaving, I looked into my eyes as Sara only knew how. His eyes were blue like a dart. I thought it was going to lose consciousness. At that moment I felt the blue streak of her perfume, the same I gave in our first anniversary. I mean, Sarah. I tried to breathe deeply. Then continued their march, led firmly by the arm of that man, that spectacular tangle of streets, mingling with the gentle stream of passersby. I longed for was the exact future of their prints. I stopped abruptly, and interrupted that I deemed as the unabashed joy of pursuing it. And I felt, for that matter, his irresistible good-bye to my body like an electric shock. For a moment I lost it. Then, while he sighed, recovered from the sea of \u200b\u200bpeople. I stopped to see a little later. Were, without my knowing (that I noticed later) the best times of my life. Follow it was so necessary as breathing. But how out of it? I am convinced that it was useless to continue the illusion that he had no other object than to produce a disappointment. I just found a way out. I decided to go home. Sara was recovering.
For some reason, just knowing that Sarah was out there in the odd place in New York, blonde and well, I consoled myself everything. The pretext was not important. Episodes came to mind with her remote, you helped me remember that New York was not just Manhattan, their presence labyrinth, and you had while we were walking the shimmering shores of the Hudson, insipid dialogue of mutual incomprehension partner about which of them wanted more on the other, Maybe they do not want me, I love you, how do you know?; do not know, sorry, I notice, how can you be sure that what you notice is that I want and nothing else?, I love you, and I can not believe I say so many times, I just look at you to be happy, do you really love me?; I love you like almost nobody has been able to ever want, but you would reject me, but do not want me or you would like to quietly, secretly, we would expect in any room where were you only see from afar, how may doubt what you want?, how you do not hesitate?, what real proof I have that I want?, yes, you say you love me, but they are just words, it is very easy to say I love you; What to do?, what do you show that you want?, do I have to kill to prove it?, I do not like that tone, do not be melodramatic, look, honey, stuns me, fed me, maybe it's not me want ... Now I know what I wanted.
Later (and I remember with horror), I left a crimson stain at the dawn without birds, and told me to not wait until night. I knew then that the dislike was a taxi away, yellow, slow, melancholic. My heart, an open grave in the middle of a street. And today, however, when rightly to be fair ...
... For three days, praying on the floor of the Brooklyn Bridge an eerie graffiti: Sara, what else is needed?
