Hola colega,
Espero que te encuentres en buenos espiritus, i'm not sure when you're leaving to South America but if I remember correctly it’s coming up soon, I wanted to wish you a safe trip, aver que me traes por si decides regresar(at least bring back a good story or two). I know that it’ll be an experience for the books, just don’t get too academic with your observations because I want to be the first to see your journals when you come back. Before you leave I wanted to tell you that for what it's worth I think about you sometimes, at the strangest times really, you see I don't expect many things of women who enter my life, I’m easy to forget, my poems and drawings can only impress for so long. Pero me interesas mucho, para mi dar la amistad es un acto muy intimo, y las conversaciones son sagradas. Straight up, I love being with you. When I think of you I see you in your worn in black low top all stars, the ones with the black shoe laces, you once said you take your shoes off to feel more comfortable so I hope you have your shoes off for this. Thinking back to an afternoon when we sat in El Jardin de las Rosas, I haven’t had a moment like that in a while, in a very long while. Actually, truthfully, I've never had something like that happen to me, I don't know of too many women or even people in general that’ll sit around dissecting and reading poetry for a better part of the day, I mean really read poetry, verse for verse, finding the rhythm in prose. Most times I meet women who claim to be readers and writers but it ends up being merely superficial, they like to read...sometimes or they haven’t quite found their voice.. or are afraid to search for a good writer, they wait to be told who the great writers are. I am intrigued by your love of letters and words, your physical beauty, your intelligence, your genuine love of literature turns me on, it always has, it’s what draws me to you. I can still taste your lips, I'm sure you could care less about mine, I don't know if this is lust and it’s worrisome because I know lust, I lust all the time, what I know is that I can still taste your lips, and I taste your lips at the strangest times. The days play out in strange scenes; I’ll spare you the detail because you were there. I have this almost inhumane ability to let go, it makes me cold, distant, its a defense mechanism, but as a writer I have the ability to cling to a given moment for what seems an eternity, BE inspired, live in that moment, know that I can relive the memory until it fades and no longer serves a useful purpose. I am at a cross road, do I cling or let go? At this point I can do either and be fine. But I see the sun setting behind you as you sit on the park table next to the garden taking a drag from your camel, holding modern Latin American poetry in your hands, writing modern Latin American literature with your pen, te veo leyendo Bolaño, recitando versos del maestro. I hear,
"En aquel tiempo yo tenía veinte años
y estaba loco.
Había perdido un país
pero había ganado un sueño.
Y si tenía ese sueño
lo demás no importaba….”
I’ve never sat with a mujer and dissected poetry before, a thing of beauty, a sense of intimate involvement, now I know what that feels like and it feels good, to read and be read to, se siente chingon. Poder plasmar esa experiencia por toda eternidad en una hoja de papel. Como dice el gabacho, “You did a number on me” I’m a seeker of symbolism and in you I find a kind of curiosity that awakens all my senses. And I find myself thinking about you at the strangest moments, quien sera esta escritora ------- ------ ? Why do you stand out? Why do I still go back to looking into your eyes at night? I go about my days, work, run errands, read, write and yes eventually think about you, it’s a strange thing which I don’t mind in the least. It’s almost childish and to you I’m probably someone who comes and goes, and that’s what I tend to do, come and go. An invisible character in many womens lives. mas no puedo borrar tu voz, tu cuerpo, tu sabor, and why do I tell you all of these things that we know are better left unsaid? Pues simply because I don’t want you to forget me while you’re traveling up and down Latin America, but more importantly, I had you on my mind today as I do all other days and it just so happens that this is what you inspired, stream of consciousness love letter to you, colleague and comrade in arms. Let me know when you get back, i'll be here.
DML
No comments:
Post a Comment