And when nothing was said and done,
she threw on her jacket, pulled it closely around her hungry body,
wondering if if would always come down to this.
The weight of all her unspeakable- or unspoken- petty concerns,
her distorted personal truths or inventions, the self-deceits and innovative illusions
suddenly pressed on her with unimaginable force. 
It was not heavy, it was gravity of gargantuan proportions. 
She pulled out her key and as she turned it, a stranger passing by slowed down, eyeing her closely.
- Have a good evening, he said and produced a fleeting smile before going about his ways.
Key in hand in mid-air, she paused and took a deep, unsuccessful breath.
And it all came tumbling down.

time bender

It was a coincidence, really. The place and time,
and all the strangeness of a perfectly normal meeting between two people
who briefly, incidentally, shared the same space
I am building us a narrative, because how else can I think?
Painting a picture so that - maybe- I will see what the subject is.
Looking for the strokes, perspective, angles and shadows.
You must not judge me if the colors are a little saturated, 
if the music seems just a tad too erotic; 
the presence of serendipity completely fictitious. 
I think I remember what you said, but I know those were not your words.
My heart leapt and I thought how easy it was to slip out of that other world,
-where edges were hard and my heart had bled dry- 
and into this explosion of colors, this parade of sounds.
Everything was standing still. We were moving.
I can't be sure,
Perhaps it was the other way around.
How does one ever know?
Time can be bent.
Outside of time there is not responsibility.
If two strangers met yesterday; briefly, incidentally sharing the same space.
- Would it be any different?
Would I?

ces espaces infinis

Are there no fresh emotions?
Can we never be cured from our own past, from our useless connotations, 
the blanks we filled in once and that are forever imprinted on us.
They tell us JUMP! and we don't even ask how high,
We jump to save our lives.
Can we ever be new skin?
Not a replica of those who came before,
not a remedy to what we have endured and survived.
But the strange perfection of the small spaces in between us
(those infinite spaces that frighten us so)
The ever-mobile molecules that constitute us; not yours and mine.
The in-between where, somewhere, we transcend and become something else.
Surely, this is our personal version of the Big Bang
as incomprehensible as it is magnificent.
And it only happens once,
until the world starts anew.

We are like sculptors, constantly

The shape of him was yours
how funny, I thought, that I had not noticed this before.
Oblivious to the absurdity of it all as it unraveled
Real time surrealism, the kind you cannot pay to see.
When he spoke, it reminded me of you. Of you talking about him.
It made perfect sense.
In the way a really complicated, beautiful pattern makes sense
because you know you will never fully understand it.
And the lines between you grew blurrier still.
For a second, in the dark, I was not sure if you were there.
I was not sure whether I knew you anymore.
I knew I was making a mistake.

Linguistically paramount

You and me; Paris.
As unlikely as it is predictably irrational. 
Surrounded by famous buildings, greedy tourists, yellow letters, barely helpful signs,
yet nobody is here but us.
Stuck in traffic, stuck in time, stuck right here.
We keep scratching each other so that the wounds will not heal. 
Para que. In the subjunctive.
If only English would adhere to the rules.
If only we would.

Friends from outer space, afraid to let go

I am an accomplice in this
psychological game of denial
It is so far gone we have forgotten what it is we are deliberately hiding,
Perhaps we are really hiding from our real selves.

We talk of old times as though we were not editing the truth
We think we are right.
We force-feed each other excitement and we postpone pain.

A bottle of wine, a glass of beer
And the epitome of romance.
What would you do?
Thats what we did.

This is the space in which we exist.

Our feet don't even touch the ground.
Questions are never answered,

Actions don't need justifications

And the real world is far, far away.



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