Code Red

-
I have been told he is recovering. He was extubated and is talking. Maybe it was the love from his spouse that saved him. Maybe it was just his body that reacted and recovered. Maybe it was a miracle? Maybe it was the medicine he was given. Maybe it was just not his time to leave the party. Not yet. Maybe it was the care that he received from his doctors. Life and its mysteries. Love and its pending affairs. The inequality of it all. We tasted new flavors on Friday night. New textures. The lights outside were screaming at us that we had to live. We had to free ourselves. That was what I heard. I heard life saying come and live. She enticed me. Let me show you a few things. Beauty. And I did go and let her take my hand because exploring is something I like. Always have. And I saw Miami under a different light. And, maybe at that point, love didn't make any sense or mattered anymore. I was just carefree. It was warm and late when we left. His eyes on me. His music on my ears. My feet aching from doing what I love the most. The city still awake and pulsing. Under blissful gods, life seems much more real. 

The city was noisy like a wild beast that is tricked into a crate. My dress was humid from the dancing. And I was still thinking about this giant feeling that makes me dance and yet my physical limitation. Would it be better if I moved to Buenos Aires? Would my will make a difference? Was it will that brought him back to life? And not love? Oh, the meaning behind certain events. The what if's that so often engulf us.




I don't belong here anymore. Have I ever?
Life is a movie. I am just watching it. I don't entertain the idea that I should belong. I see people and they seem to belong. They are cool and they know places. They have friends who are cool and do cool things. The heart seems to know these things and yet mine is too tired and feels to small to carry all this weight.
I watch you from the highest floor on this building that is made of injustices and deaths. Time elapsing. From your tower, you wave a serene goodbye. Contrary from the man who was saved by whatever reason, you are just a prisoner of your own heart.

Comments

  1. Luigi Seta I djLuigi1:36 AM

    We don't belong to ourselves. We are condemned to be free, but between the limits of the dungeon that other people created for us. May be the philosopher was amiss, reality is that obscure… and deciphering it will take all… of us… until the last breath.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To Someone

-
Image
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.
Read more

Writing

-
Unresolved pain. Nostalgia. Fire. Vivid dreams at night. Immense love.  I read the other day something an old friend once told me. Go back to what you were good at when you were a child. That's where your natural talent is. I go back, and so many things come up. So many interests. Infinite curiosity. I loved words when I was a child. But I also loved animals and nature. I also loved music and poetry. The beach made me go without sleep. I also loved to dance. I remember attracting people's comments while dancing at parties. Not because I was good but because I did my own thing.  I also liked cooking and baking from an early age. Books were also my private world.  But who am I now, forty years later?  I listen to Riccardo Cocciante, and my heart fills with raw emotion. How can someone be so good and write the most beautiful songs? I need to understand Italian better, but what I know and feel with his songs is beyond anything material.  The power of art has to move...
Read more

Letting you go

-
Sunday Afternoon by Rachael Yamagata. I know it's the right thing to do, but the right thing to do hurts like crazy. I see your presence in my apartment. I see ghosts of you. Messages that I don't want to read. It hit me hard this time. Tuesday morning, I am sitting by the window. It rains. I feel guilty and the wind blows slowly drops of blood. Maybe that's a sign. Someone said: if you like him that much, fight for him. I fought for you. I had you in my hands. I gave you so many opportunities. I gave you so much more than you deserved. It's getting cold. You slapped my face. I cried in your arms. I cried myself to sleep. I couldn't talk anymore. My projects are on hold. I can barely work. I write and I write and the pain doesn't go away.
Read more