I opened up in the midst of the hurricane, hoping that you could help me stitching up the wounds, that were souvenirs from the battles I fought against my own flesh, blood, bones and nerves. I thought maybe this time I was right to believe the weather forecast, even though I’ve always been a sceptic. Your hands so soft, like silk, or maybe even as soft as water. Water would make more sense, since you slipped right through my fingers, leaving a cold sweat. I was used to feeling thirsty, but this kind of hunger was new to me. This craving started at my eyes and ended at my feet. I felt a foreign longing for a breath of fresh oxygen, as I layed all my cards on the table. No secrets, we said, no secrets. Your silent treatment hit me like a bullet and the aftermath left a gap in my consciousness and a crack in my trust. Cold was your goodbye, formal was your voice as if I was an opponent you just defeated.
I used to put my memories, the memories of us, in a golden frame. Mention the date, the place and the time. Replay them in my mind, like a film, listen to your voice, like I listen to my records; over and over again. But it’s all getting dusty and dirt covers their value. Now even the sight of your name on streetsigns or on the windows of shops makes me feel disoriented for a while. I lay low and hope for the best, pray that better times are yet to arrive.
I’ve always been attracted to a kind of narcissism, for reasons I cannot explain. I should’ve seen it coming when you asked me to undress myself, sooner than you asked me about my favourite colour. I’m naive, they keep on telling me, and me, i keep on not listening. Drawn to the danger, the unknown, those strangers that wrap me ’round their beautiful slim fingers and slowly rip off the layers of my heart, until a gasping open wound is all that’s left.
‘Forgive me,’ my eyes beg my body, each time that I look in the mirror. ‘Forgive me for the boundaries I crossed, the respect I lost. When will I ever learn?’