Past - It is what it is what it is

Friday, February 5, 2010

The Sea and the Chaos of Being Cold

That day the sea was fresh and beautiful like it hadn't been in a long while. You seemed worried that I was cold and had not enough clothes to face that cold ocean breeze. The sun came out. We walked and held hands. We sat on the rocks that we can only see up north. You kissed me and protected me, or so I felt. We laughed and took pictures because days like those have to be kept somewhere. We were both hungry and happy. I was wearing my Indian flats and you were not ok with that. I remember you saying that "those are not beach shoes". Sometimes, my love, we don't have the right shoes, but we have to keep on walking. We have no choice. So we just keep on walking, praying that what we have is going to be enough, it's going to be good, it's going to make us, somehow, happy.

On Wednesday night, my apartment was so silent I could hear the walls talking. I was in bed waiting to fall asleep and then I felt again this urgent panic I sometimes feel that I am all alone. There's no music, no voice, no one close to me. In my mind, I could almost feel the day I was born. I was looking at the flowers I have in the wall and the feeling of desperation was so intense that I was shivering. Music would not help. It didn't feel cold. I was just late. Love has this devastating power. Being hurt poisons your soul. I hear of so many bad stories. I read about people who have been together for 50, 60 years. I hear of people who are 90 years-old and are in love. I hear of stories of people who leave each other because they fall in love. Life is so surprising.

In one of my dreams, she had been shot and I was trying to take her to the hospital. We were in a foreign place. I didn't know what to do. To have a dying mother in your arms is to die yourself.

Music, music, music. Tango, Jason Mraz, Sting. Madeleine Peyroux. Life cannot be solely the sounds of the soul, this turbulent place where thoughts travel quickly from place to place.

I can tell you, Dear Reader. I was happy the days I spent with you. Those were Hopper days. A mosaic that represent what one calls happiness. Peace. The sounds of love.

What is it about you that draws my attention. It attracts my senses. It makes my fragile being all vibrant and red? Why is liquid love born when we are? Questions that will never be answered for to live is to ask questions about what we don't know, what is meant to be a secret.

I am traveling to the ocean tomorrow, where one day my ashes are going to be scattered. The sky is gray and violent this morning. I have goose bumps. Let’s be wild. I am offering you a gift.

Posted by Keiko at 8:45 AM