Another week, another goodbye

The brand upon the brain, have seen it?

Nah, you're not that type of person...

Time, time, time... again time....

Another goodbye, this week has been miserable. Too much frustration, too much sadness...

Three blind mice

The refuge of the dark room is comforting, at least to dream. My dream-machine-room. Is cold. And has tiny windows. Three blind mice , like in Agatha’s Christies (don’t remember what ) book.
Another day.
It never really finished since yesterday woke me up a text message. I hoped, in vain, that it was yours.
My favorite article ever during all the semester that I actually read with a strange concentration –not given by caffeine- and I boycotted myself. I didn’t go to classes. Not even when I had chickenpox I wanted to skip classes. That was crucial on deciding next step. I guess I want to be steady some moments. Think about it. Understand why, if I wanted, more than you, another dimension is so hard.
Is the third, and hopefully last, time to experience our goodbye. An open wound, though, during the process. It hurts, it heals, hurts, heals….slowly but for sure. It has been hours since your smile-tears-laugh invaded me for the last time, this time. Thank you for meeting me, and leaving me. You gave me back who I am, and my creativity. At least, to dream with turtles, circular ruins, Persian empire, a priest, the beach and sun tans. I don’t sun bath! Yes dear, I should eat, sleep but I can’t. I can’t sleep without sleepiness, or eat when I’m not hungry (at work I left the microwave -warmed soup on top on the fridge and they ask about it) I just couldn’t eat the noodle leftovers of our last supper together. Bad idea. I can’t eat the oreo cookies neither.

*************

Three blind mice, three blind mice,See how they run, see how they run,They all ran after the farmer's wife,Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,Did you ever see such a thing in your life,As three blind mice?

We only said goodbye with words… you’ll be back to her, and I'll be back to… to what?

My hands are purplish, probably they need the oxygen that sleeping would provide them– if I could sleep, and deliver myself to that (as Khayyam would say) cousin of Death… – and they need lotion, and a manicure, and most important forget your skin. And I needed you. Past conjugation cuz I forbid you in my continuous present. Too late, or too early was too late, is too late. We can't conjugate anymore.
You must be dreaming, snoring, drooling, and I am writing another blog, OCD, in this intent to extirpate you from my memory (if the eternal shine of a spotless mind could be my case), swallow it with water or tears.
Don’t want to look at the clock, blogger gives me the illusion of recovering one hour, but is later than what I wished. I know is too late, way too late. Late in your time, no time for this dream -awake.
This song, of my trip to the wind and cold makes the function of your pets: my company http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciV34UXODP0

Chronicle of a Death Foretold

Alejandrina Cervantes: "Disproportionate eating was always the only way she could ever mourn and I'd never seen her do it with such a grief" Is not my case, dear. I just don't sleep. I hold a wake over my feelings, to make sure they're dead before I put them in the coffin, and then throw them dust and flowers.

Like in a vigil, "Disproportionate lack of sleeping was always.....

Cricket

I got excited. I will always try to deny it: I thought it was your text, almost at 3 something AM, of coursem it wasn't.
I'm the only insomniac in this town. It seems like.
I guess, when the shadows are awake, or you're in a place of the eternal time, like in the Sartrean play "The others" time doesn't exist... but to bother, to make each other's life miserable. Granddaughter of Saturn, married to Hades, Proserpine has to cope with the period of six months of spring, outside of the infraworld, and then doomed to her spouse's habitus. Time, time, time. Our springs/winters take place in hemispheres. Either we are always in the wrong hemisphere or I’m always cold in spring.
“Cricket is not participating in this even at this time”- texted me, and not you- … you see? Always is time. Time free. Spare time. Time out. Past time…. Talking about, that http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zP9JLSghD4&feature=related. You won’t like it, and you’d have to watch the whole movie. You’re not that patient. You see? Always time!

Few hours ago, I finally decided, for the third time, to say goodbye. You helped me a lot, thanks. It was like if you cheated: reading my mind. I confessed my thoughts to my friend and you cited, word by word my feelings. I can't promise this is the last goodbye. I’m afraid not and I'm hoping truly it is. Not for lack of love, you know why.
I'm still wearing your hoodie, in few days I'll drop it at your house, with your book and stuff. I gave back your key and recovered mine.
And didn't cry because you know is not worth it. Besides... your coldness went to my lachrymals, and they're a bit useless, frozen. I would cry snow, or little pieces of hail. It would be painful. Not as much as the little wounds we carved in each others' tripes.
I think, at that instant, saying goodbye gave me happiness, to stick out that stuck stuff out of my throat –it didn’t let me express. Do you remember? The lucky chinese cookie told me to express, you didn’t let me. “Too much closeness” –your silent argument- and I finally gave your space back. Now what! you don't want it?
Just one day at the time, like AA, I won’t suffer your absence this day… just this day.
How did all of this started? I guess we were in the right/wrong- time/place. And even from a platypus, as Beppo would say, we would fall in love with. You’ll meet him one day.

Chariot Rise

Remember The Secretary?
One of my favorite movies and this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pg8hO-TKA-4 was played (don't remember where -will have to watch it again- Maggie G. is awesome and Spade, too, I love his interpretation of a compulsive boss...)

This song reminds me many things...
And you... have you seen it? would you like to?