Words About Stuff

It all started that morning I put a shirt and my wallet into a small bag. Screams of revolution in a dark parking lot. I kissed her on impulse because the moment pulsated with randomness. I wanted to stay but I had to leave. And the first sunrise of the year found me in a park somewhere, cold and shivering, a Corona in one hand.

I broke someone that day. The truth is, I have probably broken countless people during these 12 months. But not only did I kiss her, I kissed him. And the difference between them was dictated by the feelings dripping from his fingertips into my hand, wrapped around his. I realized my mistake just in time; I pulled away. But the moment happened.

Am I to blame, though? Days and days that extended into months, and mornings when I woke up not knowing how to wake up. I remember them so clearly: my alarm clock blaring, my eyes closed, the sunshine imposing itself.

I kept score; a one to two, seven to five, nine to ten symphony of heartbreak.

But sometimes they call that love.

And sometimes, they say, you lose.

But it’s
in the descend
that
I grabbed the circumstances
and
molded them
to fit my wishes.

Thank you.

They say that one day you wake up and you realize that you can actually function. Everything fixed. Laughable. I clawed my way out, a solitary exercise recorded by countless word documents saved deep into the night. I say something in your human anatomy shifts. You begin producing metal. And I was stronger.

So, thank you. For the beautiful time. Gorgeous memories I cherish.

What a year to carve my initials into persons’ hearts, into people’s skin before saying goodbye.

And when all was done and nothing said, because farewells are actually found in silence - in the shrug of a shoulder or a wishful look - I watched the skies for the airplane I was supposed to be on.

During dizzying 70 hour weeks, I threw myself into bed, got up, did work, saved money and did it all over again. Three months of this, a work addiction I have not quite beaten nor do I want defeat. I made the time for you, somehow, in much the same manner that I made space for you in an organ I never want to distrust. I made no promises and we held hands and in a state up north, in the living room of the family I had charmed so well, as some wicked wind raged on outside and the sunset peeked over tree tops, we whispered accidental I love yous, the way love should be spoken. Unplanned.

I lied. Because that was an accidental promise, and one that I tried to honor.

It’s peculiar feeling, leaving a house you don’t consider your home anymore because your family has become a group of strangers and you a mere nightly visitor. Your mother’s green eyes were cold and sad and they have remained sad, though touched, every now and then, by proud electricity.

We have learned to love each other. And maybe we, ourselves, do not quite understand it yet (and neither do the outsiders looking in) but I have always said that we are too similar to get along. We walk with dignified arrogance and we talk forcefully and we love savagely. We want what we want when we want it, hungrily and impatiently. We recognize these qualities in each other; inherent respect. We traveled together on a plane nine years ago and built a new life on each other’s promises

I told her that I intended to make a somebody out of myself. She told me that she intended to always be there. We have kept our word.

And so I began chasing sunsets.

I searched in dawn air that vibrated with music and amidst the sprawling arms of questionable life decisions. Sometimes this meant going to work almost too drunk too function, almost too guilty to continue, but it always meant elation. I worked 11 hour days with the firm belief that they would pay off; energized by the conviction that five years from now, I will look back on this time in my life and laugh because I was young and stupid and pulled it off so well. I gave up dreaming the day I gave up feeling sad, but I build my days’ worth with literal hard work.

It is far better than slumber that wants so much it hurts.

And in this chase of a beautiful ideal, I offered no explanations to no one but myself. But maybe this is me saying it all on the record.

It’s damn a shame that people are so scared of speaking their hearts, though. I tell my friends that I love them and I go to sleep every night with my mother’s “Te quiero” still ringing in my ears. I thank those who feed me with heartfelt hugs.

People aim to live without regrets. Thing is, I have realized that I specifically aim to die knowing I said it all, the dirtied heart on my sleeve still beating and my smile shining.

Maybe it’s too much to expect: To live intensely and to live unapologetically.

But, for fucks sake, give me the chance, 2011.

baby, will you be my corona and lime?

We rode the elevator up, but it took us down. And I, considering romantic notions half surrendered to loss, grabbed her hand, stubbornly laughed our way up four floors.

Shadows did not exist under white lights, the moon rendered obsolete. I climbed the ledge and wondered what kittens feel when they fly. She smiled up at me, bashfully, confidently. Her eyes leaked admiration and I could feel the metal inside melting; something like not breathing for a long time and suddenly indulging in unabashed gasps of fresh air, parking lot air, air that smelled like her and full of oxygen that ignites.

A two second distraction was enough to find her again, back to the cement, shoes off. The image of her under white lights, yellow moon, resting directly on cold concrete is one I was familiar with because it had played out in the back of my mind as a broken wish. I laid down beside her, wondering if she’d believed more than I had that we would end up on the fourth light-washed floor of an empty parking lot at 1 in the morning with tangled fingers.

I laid down beside her, as she had known all along that I would.

There’s a constant circle of contemplation tied around my waist, a continuous loop of desires. It is tricky, because I can’t turn too fast or walk too far without becoming twisted in my own ignored thoughts. I flipped onto my side, flipped myself onto you, and in that instant felt the rope go.

I flipped myself onto you as I’d known all along I would.

We can pretend that it was chance. We can pretend that we waltzed into each other’s arms accidentally, that we never noticed the numbers climbing and the security cameras watching us. We can pretend, you and I, we can pretend to be rational and logical but maybe this works because we’re really both one with the moon, racing circles around it, wiping the stars away with bare hands.

Me on top of you, fourth floor of a white parking lot, 2 in the morning, deleting the world for just a few minutes. No, that’s too generous. A couple of seconds, and a couple of seconds was really all we needed.

Time is irrelevant anyway. I knew you during a drunken night, I felt you in my heart the day after. Now, be my corona and lime? I quote song lyrics because it’s easy. And you know what, the plain truth is that I’d rather give you no guarantees. The latter are no different than promises, and those are broken, even when they’re made out of love.

I don't ever want to lie to you.

So. There I was, on top of you. My hands touching asphalt, my body touching you. The moment made us infinite. That’s the fucking point. All I need is the memory, which I’m imprinting on a word document, frantically, before the words escape me. My caffeine is the Corona in this coffee cup. I want to capture this instant. It’s essence. That it happened and that we were infinite.

"Do you have internet access, like, right now?"

Sometimes that’s enough. For now, I want it to be enough.

I come with no guarantees.

Baby, let’s be infinite for now.