(I can’t even remember what I had for dinner last night but)
A week ago
we were talking about horoscopes
and how you didn’t believe in them.
I found you sleeping on your desk
with your white headphones on
(Sigur Rós, probably).
A week ago
we went to Starbucks together.
You order a cappuccino
with chocolate,
with cream,
with everything.
I told you that
that wasn’t coffee anymore and
you said you just like having
something sweet when it rains.
Nostalgia… ¿Nostalgia?
Desgarradora. Desproporcional.
De lo que nunca tuve y de lo que siempre estuvo ahí.
A veces pienso que es imposible sentir tanto, o al menos debería serlo.
“You are my poetry. Without you all these pages would be blank and my verses nonexistent.”
Today I’m feeling as if my face was painted in careless brushstrokes with rusty paintbrushes you wouldn’t even use for your walls.
I want him badly.
Madly.
I need to feel his eyes fixed at me.
I need to pretend I do not notice them.
