Yesterday I was in your city.
Yesterday I was in your neighborhood and yesterday I spoke with your friends. Yesterday, I walked the streets again all of my memories. Yesterday I hurt all over again. It hurt my soul, my spirit hurt, I hurt my soul, I hurt myself.
hurt me ...
A non-physical pain that makes me twist the toes and which to leave, my mind imagines a thousand other hurtful acts.
Yesterday I went back to live. Yesterday I was on your street. I tried not to look at anything, but I saw everything. Yesterday I hated myself for wanting this way, not only you but all with attachment. Yesterday, again, I opened the wound. A deep wound, open and feverish. A bloody pain. The pain of the bull in the plaza, which bleeds to death's door, at the hour of Lorca. A blinding pain, pain in the motionless statues, pain for sigh.
Yesterday I gathered all these months, all this time. And the reality slapped me reminding me that my sorrow, time had passed in vain. And I thought about all the new friends I've made and I would have loved to be there. I have met wonderful people and you, you too would love to know. I found stuff, music, books, places, poetry. I found talks ... a myriad of things that hurts me not to share with you. It saddens me because I know that you love and that believe it or not, you and I shared many things. He lived a spectacular experience, I would have loved to explain because you'd hear me forward, that fantasy that you and I were eye shines.
Yesterday I went to feel any small like the sun just before nightfall, that dark night I have within me the same darkness where hearts are looking straight ahead. Yesterday I did not cry, but I notice that my tears are there. I feel like want to go out of my strength. I know that eventually find their way out and I know I will make the most absurd way possible, without caring where or when.
Yesterday I went back to miss. Yesterday I turned to love. And I hate to be so weak. Yesterday I needed a hug. One A hug from a friend or stranger who pitied me. But she was alone and try to give it to myself. After all, I'm the only one who knows all the nuances of my story, the intensity of my grief. I try to embrace all the reassuring words I knew. I sentence myself for not knowing how to love. Love, cronopios and frogs. And suddenly I had an enormous certainty. I love you see. Yes. Why not? But only when I stop loving you.
The things that matter be taken aside and not far to enjoy a false freedom.
Yesterday, I dreamed that I wanted ...
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