Sword

 chalice but

    incomplete

Thursday, November 5th, 2020

To R.

What is the point of a battle, when the sea has already swallowed and crushed poems that were written from the wrong side of the war? 

Don't you dare to fit all that seemed to be a delicate love in a letter and leave it on my shore, because, was it ever a real love or a selfish illusion made of lies? would you like being lied to? how would you feel if your mind, intelligence, your entire being was underestimated? Is disrespectful.    

And for that reason, I will try not to be rude, even if I was, due to angriness, because not being kind is also disrespectful. With no intention to harm or hurt, the truth is better than being lied to. Therefore, I apologize.  

   But I am not sorry for being honest, not sorry for being human. I refuse to allow what I feel inside for him to become an ''aeipathy''. I am not sorry for desiring him. 

 

Because the right man for me will move mountains to be with me, he won't hide behind them. Is about respect, self-respect. 

No more tolerance for lies, especially when you know the truth. 

explanation finished. 

To P.

Last night you came as I was sleeping, you found me bent on my knees (shades of gray) watching over the world through the magical reverser slide that transforms big objects and makes them look small, significant matters into insignificant, the invisible to visible, etc.

-'' What's holding you back?''. You asked.

I could not directly respond, but when I woke up, the answer was already in my head.  

I have ''Jonathan Livingston Seagull,'' by Richard Bach, in my library, that boy who had ''bipolar disorder'' gave it to me, when I was missing, we met in the psychiatric clinic, I still remember him, not his face. When I was wearing a pink top, I remember him touching the top and pointing out my head while singing,

 ''the Pinky and the Brain'' and that was funny.

I have an entire movie complete in my head, where the focal point has to do with a black cat that passes twice unnoticed, outside the window, of a house that belongs to us, the exact moment that you grab my hand and you dance me, to the end of light.

I have a secret river, perched in the mountains of Tilliria, that I stopped to drink water once, and the day wouldn't wait for me, and the night arrived and everything got so dark.

I have a key, that opens the gate of an abandoned village, that no longer exists. It was inhabited by strange talking animals and aristocratic couples, my ancestors. Brought from times that passed irrevocably. A November's dawn, with heavy rain, the village was over floated from the waters of the river. 

I have a raw of Tibetan skulls, hidden in a bath with cherries, surrounded by veneered floors, and greek columns- thousands of years too late in Ogygia, a lost isle in the South. They are asleep and dreaming of their mortality.

I have an Angel guardian of the Sun, and one of the Moon, and every now and then they claim me for their own, the first one burns me up with is fiery edges, and the second one drowns me down with each night's tide.

 I have a rug decorated with intricate patterns, which whenever I sit on it, does not fly.

It doesn't fly!

It is packed in a warehouse in the center of a field with lemon trees.  In a mountain gap next to the Middle Earth. The caretaker once gave me a chalice, painted over, decorated with flowers during the renaissance, after was taken from the UK, where it was given as a trophy, he said he stumbled upon it when he lost his wife, and ever since he lost his memory. Every winter he picks the lemons from the lemon trees to save them from the freezing cold, and he has nowhere to give them.

I have a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, waiting for its sea to conjugate. I have a mirror on a wall that broadcasts the things as they could be, and not as they really are. built-in to potentiality. For that reason, I was trapped in another reality that wouldn't let me see you.  

I have a story just like this, that hides another story in the lines and waits to be told by readers yet to born.

I have two stars that I enclosed in a container made of glass, and ever since, the one is crashing into the other eternally.

 Well, I have all this to hold me back, and a bunch of other things. But all I really ever wanted was you. And when I will eventually get you (in the reception between my legs) I will be pleased to be possessed by you as my master.

 Before the definition steals us and transforms us into gem-stones.