I went to a store on Thursday and I overheard a conversation between a little girl and her mom. They were speaking Spanish and the girl was telling her mom how she wanted to seat somewhere, but there were no seats around. They caught my attention because they were very pretty. Her two daughters looked like little dolls. They had big brown eyes, brown straight hair, beautiful skin and teeth. The girl sounded very sweet, but also very assertive. She made me think about one time that I was very sick -- when I was about her age and I was at a store called Mesbla in Brazil. We used to go there on Saturdays when my dad was off and always had fun browsing their large stock of products. That day I sat down under the racks of clothes to wait for my parents. I was feeling very bad. My mom got mad because I sat down on the floor. I think I've always been like that. Not very picky. Then maybe I should start re-evaluating my standards. Maybe I should model myself after that girl that I saw at that store. Mesbla doesn't exist anymore.
To Someone
The architecture of the city is plural and restless. Your voice comes and goes. The sky was pale blue today. White here and there. Clouds. Whispers. Our dialog is more vivid now. I still see how intense your eyes are. You come and go from me. But I know you never really leave. At least, that is the illusion that keeps me - going? I see patterns. They make sense. Like you made sense a while ago. I can't reason with Love, can I? Love, this palpable, irrational measurement of attachment and desire. I don't know if you are the same anymore. The same I knew. Did I ever know you? It doesn't matter because you fit like a symptom fits a disease. You fit my fantasy. My fantasy was so concrete and so tangible. I play us in my head. If I had. If you had. But history doesn't rewrite itself. I can't walk down the street to try and find you. Unchanged sea. Under the same sheltering sky. I love you.
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