You

You never realized how hard it was for me to bear the feeling that I had big shoes to fill. Literally.

I've always told you I was a tango dancer. I guess I never understood your passion for dancing and you never understood my passion for dancing tango. We collide like two machines that have to operate in the same factory, but somehow have different functions. They depend upon each other. But they aren't coordinated enough to make the factory a productive place. 
I couldn't sleep last night. It was just me and thoughts. The water you brought over to my table. Me looking at you like I couldn't see the real you. You wearing one of my favorite shirts. You looking at me and asking to dance with you. The two ladies seating with you. One of them the cause of some fights. The other one staring at me as if I were guilty of something. Listen lady, from this place of loss where I am right now, guilt is not exactly a feeling that I can have. His loss. The baby's loss. The lost hope. I am not trying to be a victim either. I don't want anybody's pity. But somehow if people listen to my pain or if I listen to my own pain out loud, I will have no doubts anymore and my pain will diminish.

I was angry too. I was angry to see you seating right in front of me. You turned into a stranger. The person I wanted being close to me is now this not recognizable face. 

You opened my wounds last night. On Friday around 3am in the morning I had called you and I told you I wasn't going to call again. 

So my teacher comes to me and says hello and tells me: do you know who is here? I panic. I didn't  expect you to be at my favorite place to dance tango. I didn't know you were there. I had put my stuff down and I had sat right in front of you. Not knowing you were there. And as a ghost, I see your image looking at me. You had this sad expression on your face. Perhaps because you saw me. I bet that if I hadn't been there you'd be enjoying yourself. 

You'd didn't expect to see me sliding across the room ready to tango. You didn't expect to see me, light and flowery, ready to be embraced by other men. That's why you left. Or perhaps you left because I told you: please, go. I don't want to argue. Then you left the place and I was left with this bitter taste in my mouth. That didn't go away the whole night. They played our tangos. I danced our tangos with other people. Different than the night we went to CITA in what I call our red night, yesterday was a baby blue kind of night. Perhaps when red cries or bleeds too much it becomes pallid, pale blue and it fades away. Little by little.