At night, after a milonga

I woke up with a brutal migraine. I can say I used to be a morning person, but nowadays if I can, I just stay in bed postponing the inevitable: another day. The cold has this magical effect on me. At least for a while, it makes me feel alive. I observe the rain from my window and the lake moves in unknown ways, I wonder: how much freedom is too much freedom?

I have a dark picture of me. My warm smile. Your hands, the winter that seems unending. What's it that I miss? How do people find balance, how do they find balance while being in relationships? Why do women love too much? Why do good women get screwed while the bad ones get away with murder?

Mr. R. always had an answer to my questions. Sometimes he doesn't want to tell me what it is because he knows I know. Is his past sweeter in his imagination? My past is. Memory has the power of making you believe things were more magical than they were in reality.

Mr. C. once asked me: do you think you'd be happier  married? I told him that I would always be miserable. That's just my nature. I often ponder, is this the nature of a writer? Was I influenced by writers who lived intensely and died young and tragically? I am not suggesting I have their talent, but I do sometimes feel pain - as I imagine - as intensely.

Walk faster. I am giving up. It is not about "something being wrong with", it's rather about being partners in crime. It's about consideration, it's about the right things you do for your partner and for yourself. Because when you're with someone you love things are different. Your priorities change. Maybe I was mistaken and we should just go with the flow and not make a big deal out of being in love.