I felt I could tell you anything

Some friends approached me to tell me that they were leaving, and although I preferred to stay, the options were to leave or leave alone later enduring a tedious walk of thoughts for more than half an hour until I reached the car. I always like to park near the places I go to, but that night the very foxes of my friends tricked me. So having left my car near the winds of Jamaica, I went to ask for a bottle of water ready to start the march. Not to hydrate myself on the journey, but to prepare the stomach to endure shits of conversations of sorrows and joys that barely endured at that time.

However, as if throwing a lifeguard into the sea of ​​a shipwrecked man who is already drowned, you appeared. I was not looking for you, I did not approach your side of the bar because you were incredibly beautiful, or because I had thought to tell you anything. But fuck, the moment you looked at me all my plan went to hell. We started talking, my friends left without me, and I was involved in one of the most philosophical, strange and stimulating conversations of my whole life.

Certainly, I don't know anything about you. You also gave me no information other than your name. Maybe you were just a shadow of something I was looking for without knowing it. Someone who looked at me through the mirror of my own madness, talking about everything and nothing, taking me the opposite but looking at me wanting to fuck me at the same time. Riding through Bukowski's worlds, laughing at me and everyone else. Even of yourself.

So much so that I wanted to spend a lifetime immersed in that conversation. Trying to show you I was cool, without seeming to do it, while you dismounted the beach bar with just a smile. And my God, what smiles. There was more intelligence in them than in all the fucking inventors of light bulbs, academics and dreamers of this land dancing together to see who hangs the gajo most.

Now I don't know if I would like to see you again. You could turn my whole life upside down and the problem is that I am not one of those who runs away from strange roads. I am one of those who would sell his soul to the devil in exchange for a dream of fog and foam while he managed to think about how he could deceive him. Just to discover something new in me.

And the night did not end there. After walking back to my car alone, I saw myself running two apples with a madman behind me who had previously asked me if I believed in the child Jesus. I said: of course, gentleman. But that only interests me or steals or scatters my brains against the ground. What I would not intuit is that even with shoes I would be able to run an average of 10 meters per second longer than him.


And so and yet I couldn't get your smell out of my head. He would have died leaning on your shoulder that night and would have made him happy. Not knowing what else to do.

So as I know you are to take the opposite, I will only tell you that I hate you. I hate you for leaving me in this darkness, this wanting to hear from you and not being able to open my eyes enough to see something that invites me to meet again, even if it was in anyone else, because I certainly do not think there is.

I felt I could tell you anything.

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