A matter of time

Then, as soon as I finish with this, just a moment, later on, by the end of the moment, right now, tonight, almost, in five minutes, immediately, give me two hours, I won´t forget it, I´ll check it in a while, as soon as I get home, afterwards, I´ll do it tomorrow for sure, another time, I´ve almost finished, at half past, I´ll be late but will be there, a few seconds, when you are able, very soon, don´t wait for me, there is still time, quickly.

When? Not anymore.

The red hoodie

It was two sizes bigger and the quality was questionable. She had bought it on a flea market three winters ago. It was that weekend, maybe for her, that other life.

She didn´t talk about that trip. She arrived, left the suitcase and asked us about the plans for the following week. As any other Sunday. Even if it wasn´t.

She had never unpackaged the luggage, just took the hoodie out. She moved it from one side to the other of the room but didn´t open it. When she was visiting her parents, we entered her room and looked at the suitcase as if our eyes were able to see inside and discover the content. Or if that was going to tell us something else.

She didn´t use it always. But it wasn´t a chance that she wore it when was sad. Or when she fought with us and wanted to go away but the responsibility made her stay.

There was a night when we all had more alcohol than we should. She had danced and drunk as in any other party. Obviously, no one of us remembers how we ended up talking about the suitcase and the red hoodie, but the long minutes of smiles, turned up into a tense silence that took a while to overcome.

In summer, she hugged it. The doors to our rooms were usually open. Then, she left it almost close, as if looking for some privacy but didn´t want to be alone.

I am not sure if any of us asked her openly about it, or we just let the time to swallowed the answers.

Her song

It was such a beautiful melody. It sounded far away, distant, almost heavenly. Just his voice and the guitar.

He said that was a gift for her, that it will always be her song, and she couldn´t have been more excited. He kissed her on the forehead and smiled. It was a warm smile. She knew it wasn´t.

He left the guitar on the table. When she could see his eyes again, the blood was already flowing from her chest. There were two shots but she didn´t hear them. Her mind was still hearing the sound of that beautiful melody.

Woman

On a morning like any other

you get caught

in your own net.

Close your eyes.

Feel yourself.

You are the mermaid

from your own tale.

A dancing body

with new old wings.

Free.

Live barefoot

the nights with bitter moon

and at down,

be back

proud of your presence.

It´s you,

not a dream

not a gentleman awaiting.

It´s you,

woman.

On a sunny day

She sat down on a bench. A train passes by. Another one. There is an engine working. A voice whispering. Roaring. Her body is a statue. A framework without a picture inside. A shadow. Not even the glaze lost. Her knees are shaking, but you can just see it when getting closer. And you do not get closer. There is a wall. You look for the key and you find it.

She joins the train. She ties her stomach and closes her eyes. It seems that she´s not there, that the wind has taken away the salt. Sometimes you forget her existence. She forces you to make her body invisible. And immediately, she puts her forefinger in your arm. It´s warm energy. Delicate and decreasing. Fleeting.

She lets the train go. Her hands are shaking but she waves firmly. The station is empty. The engine is still working. The statue is still close. Too much.

She gets into bed. The engine is noise. A constant noise. The toes caress the coldness of the bedsheets. The hands are a fist; her body, a statue. She plays music in the background and leaves the noise on the pillow. She shakes it and drowns its wrinkles. She plays music in the background to stop the engine. She ties her stomach and closes her eyes. She uses the blanket and sweats so that the noise embraced her skin.

In Madrid on 2021

Sometimes it´s not there. I had played so much that now I believe it. Sometimes it changes into a skeleton; I insert it gently under my skin and strip it without anaesthesia. It is almost always a shield, a layer unable to protect and a sword I hold and never use. I almost always make its make-up so it can look uglier. I hardly ever dominate it. It gets a costume and goes up by pinching my stomach.

I like when it gets away without saying goodbye. I appreciate it quickly because it leaves me on a fragile balance. I like when I spit in its face and kick it so that it moves away. There are wounds and then scars. I like when I look at its eyes and we don´t need a challenge. It rolls over and walks slowly trusting in my regret. I just sigh and let it settle in the same step as disappointments and cowardice.

Sometimes I am the one who gets away without saying goodbye. I close my mouth and hide the anger under the kindness. Sometimes I am the one who set an unbridgeable distance. I kill it being sure that it is the penultimate time. Sometimes I am the one who rolls over to not see how arrives. Because I am the one who hires it.

I like to sow some sentences that I already know are not going to be collected. That´s writing. And own satisfaction. I like to draw the last dot on each paragraph. Never the final dot. And that´s not writing. I like when my hand travels alone. Even when the pencil betrays me. That´s the path of honesty.

The exact amount

It had been a long time since he was living on his own and to be back in his neighbourhood was quite emotional. He was so happy to check that the greengrocer was still open. His eyes were trapped by the intensity of the colours and had to try them again.

-May I help you? - the salesperson got closer.

-Yes, I would like some oranges, please.

-It tastes really good? How much do you want? A kilo would...?

-Some - cut him off while shaking.

-Is it okay fiv...?

-Ssssssh. Just the right amount.

-Ah... Is this enough? Should I add one more?

-No, no, no. You are not understanding anything - he screamed putting his hands above his head.

-Are you feeling okay?

-I want to pay - he answered after a long whisper.

-Alright. It is...

-No, do not say it!!! Take my card and charge it. And don´t try to cheat! Someone will check the numbers afterwards.

Dismissed duration

How long will you stay here?

How long if mermaids are already sleeping,

if you are wrecking

and my skin floats in your veins?

How long will I be able to stay here?

How long if it´s already raining,

if the wind is blowing

and I have a blade in my hands?

How long will you wait?

How long if the moon is not shining,

if the silences are quiet

and you call this madness?

How long will I be able to wait?

How long if there is no wood for the bonfire,

if the words are flying away

and I call this lie?