It Was a Night Without Moon or Stars

It was a night without moon or stars, under the heat of candles and the suffocating enclosed air of a tent, under the intoxicating, numbing and hallucinogenic effect of alcohol, you kissed me, I kissed you, we looked at each other and the uncontrollable desire of two bodies covered with scarce garments that without realizing undress, kiss, caress, love and from euphoria, from screams, moans and desire pass to calm, a calm so pure so sensitive and infinite, in which heartbeats no longer seem necessary and with the sensation of not knowing where my body ends and where yours begins.

Damn calm that numbs, fatigue after sex, silence, peace and tranquility that accompanies sweet orgasm, the violence of penetration of heat that accompanied each scream, each moan to reach the end, ecstasy, the eternal sigh that stopped time, that makes space disappear and disconnects the mind, and again we return, oh sweet orgasm, orgasm full of colors. Damn calm that takes me to sleep, 69 nights passed to finally wake up.

1:20 am I wake up under my sheets with your face in my mind and your perfume in my entrails. In the darkness of my room under sheets that still smell like you, I try again to forget you, 127 moons have passed and under the infinite vault of the sky, the vault that covers us both, I find myself awake with open eyes with the promise of never again daydreaming.

5:20 am the alarm sounds and a voice in my head asks about you, will you be at the station, am I going to find you, should I wait, will today be the day? There I am again returning to the same place, the same station, the same time, asking for you to come back.

It’s 19:51 I wish I had the luck to find you again, I wish bad luck would one day forget about me, I wish I didn’t have to enter the same station and retrace the steps that one day led me to you, damn solitude, surrounded by faces and shadows, I close my eyes the only thing I want is that when I open them it’s you who’s by my side, but I’m still in the same place looking for your face among people, people who don’t know my sadness, who murmur, mock and judge, with my heart beating as if there weren’t a second more to live. Waiting for you… the clock marks 7:00 am again, it’s time to continue.

I wish I were invisible, on every bus I board not to search for your eyes among people, but before the journey begins and without realizing it I’m thinking of you, with hope that every bus, every station takes me to you. They say hope is the last thing you lose, but it’s that hope that’s killing me, the one that takes me every day at the same time retracing the footprints of a past, of a dream, of an illusion that one day was you…

And now you leave and I’m left with a story to tell, a story that began with a look, a look that was engraved in my mind, an image, a memory that accompanies me in the early mornings.

I’m left with emptiness, the emptiness your silence leaves, the emptiness of a thousand and one questions, the emptiness of the eternal lover of rebels without cause, the girlfriend always dressed in mourning, that companion we call solitude.

I take refuge in books, in reading, in poetry, in the middle of the car surrounded by people but empty of souls, of smiles, of life. You… it was you, who rescued me from the city’s somber landscape, who brought me back to life and now you take it away.

You take a part of me, a part I never knew, you take my joys, my laughter and my tears, with you goes a sea of illusions of dreams and hopes, you take my desire to love.

It’s me who has to find a way not to think of you every morning at the same station, the same route, the same routine that one day I’ll change, meanwhile I try to fill the emptiness your absence leaves with the blessed smoke of cigarettes.

It’s 19:51, Again. It’s inevitable after seeing you again not to feel things, wanting to kiss you, hug you, it’s inevitable not to regret what I didn’t do, it’s inevitable to daydream, wanting to turn back time, but I can’t do it, just as I couldn’t stop feeling emptiness when you asked me for a hug, a hug I didn’t want to end, a hug I didn’t ask for, a hug I wouldn’t have wanted to give, the most difficult hug, the farewell one.

You’re a strange mixture of tenderness, mischief, seriousness and joy, but 80 days later I would face the truth, there were three lies, and so begins the rainy season over the city, a city full of scars with wounds still open from a past that doesn’t forget, that hasn’t forgiven and that waits for night to fall and the sun to rise again.