Los piensos.

Y uno tiene pedos tratando de entender, De saber que carajo es lo que pasa de uno y otro lado. Tratando de dejarse de mamadas e ir al grano, directo y sin escalas, Convenciéndose y diciendo: "bueh, a lo mejor es recíproco." De ida y vuelta, pues. Uno trata de entender. Cuando la verdad es, que la mayor parte del tiempo, uno sabe que la misma razón de su confusión es aquello que entendió desde el principio.

We know how subtly it erodes the tranquility of our lives, how slowly it invades our linear and stupid time. It deprives us from thinking straight and logically creating such an addiction, impossible to refrain, because the more we are into it, the more we are delighted with the capricious images and sounds it forms. We enjoy it due to its natural power of breaking everything it touches, leaving all that renewed, dazed and confused. It is just everything we cannot control and the illusion of the latter. Chaos is a force of nature: Impossible to stop, to neglect, not to fall for it. Like you.

La lavanda. El costado. El pelo. El avión. La cadera. La cintura. Las flores. El brazo. Las piernas. La flecha. La muñeca. Los pezones. El cuello. Los labios. ¡Lotería!

It is a matter of physics that, in order to let something in, one must let something out. It is impossible, for any matter, to occupy the same place at the same time, to transform an element into another, to defy gravity, to see what does not exist. It is nonsense to deny our place in the universe, the curvature of Earth, magnetism. Just as it is, it is on physics to understand how I am here and you are there.

I like you the way one likes the things that I will never possess. I want you, like the things I still desire. I like you, how one craves impossibilities... ...In the same fashion as you have never liked me.

It's about all the places not visited, all those pictures untaken. The holidays not travelled and the kisses not given. All those sunsets and the lonely moments. The movies not seen and the words unspoken. It is about the ghost of your weight on me, the eternity not spent and the laughter never heard. The kids, the house, the cats we never had. it's not about me tearing my mind up on you and your memory. It is not about you. it's not even about me, but all about that.