I can still sketch the first of your words to have entered my poetic memory at that time when I felt as light as the air I was breathing, and even now as I’m strapped down with an ardor that weighs more than my soul I can still hear that laughter in the crisp cold of winter and see my hand help you get up from that gray tinted snow. That portal you mentioned was never created, but the link had been that night, gripping now to the beginning of the nod of links that create my very own existence. A charming, irritating, blissful vertigo blooming vertically into a tree of life as beautiful as the world underneath us and its entrance, the passage in Orion’s belt .
How everything came to be is a fuzzy process that grew unintentionally but was still well cared for by the hands of two people that wished for it. Like letting your mind be joined at your feet and travel inside to conquer everything about yourself as himself by the theory that Platon once formulated involving one itself as a whole.
Looking back at it feels like peeking from behind a door at a mammoth sized maze that seems to have started growing in lives before. Time passes quickly but even quicker things happen that change everything forever. I would like to believe that there are no such things as coincidences but in the same time I don’t want to let pass such an idea that my choices have been made by something or somebody else, even worse that they are somehow genetically inscribed.
I believe words limit and don’t do justice in a way to certain feelings like love, joy or sadness, especially when they’re not even uttered but thought, in spite of the overwhelming desire to have them uttered.
My world is a topsy-turvy image of what it used to be without you, sitting on a hill joined by that sweet company wouldn’t feel boring anymore, but peaceful in a complicated hybrid emotion like sleeping with one’s dream.
I have had my hand at solving Rubik’s cube, but that stream of patience never settled its float inside of me for so long as to actually give me enough time to crack the dragon’s skull; that until one day. I was walking down one night on cardiac serpentines, minding my own thoughts as I kept them locked in colorfully patterned balloons, holding them by their bright red string. Spheres of light interspersed the various pathways that spread to the hills, their orange glow warming the ground above which they floated. My barefoot feet were delighted by that flavor, gnawed at by the cold and embraced by the tingling sensation of pure light. The cherry trees were swaying in the chilly wind, and as I approached the mirror of water that led to it, their petals were blown away by a powerful gust, now settling softly around its heavily armored trunk. I noticed you kneeling next to the Ceiba tree, gazing at Xibalba, but I did not rush to embrace you, no, I fell in fascination in the blanket of petals, my hair coming down my shoulders as I closed my eyes. I kept staring at you like at a ghost of lives past, looking in those reptilian eyes I could’ve recognized in the beginning of time. That’s when Rubik’s cube opened itself to me, a small piece of universe encased in a space loop ever moving, ever shifting in its stillness. The invisible bars of confinement, the memory of its imagination.
And as I turned that way I moved logic in all my dreams, that sometimes did shift to nightmares even in full development of hanging gardens in the desert or lakes bordered by medieval walls. Around them sidewalks, on which ladies in umbrella dresses often enjoyed taking strolls, had been paved with golden bricks. Their plastic smiles stung me through my humble drop waist dress as I walked past them, advancing counterclockwise to the rest of the world. I pretended not to care how their slender bodies managed to summon the waters by performing gracious movements I was not able of and wandered through the forest, where my faithful pond awaited. I stumbled onto the root of a severed tree trunk and fell flat on my face, close enough to the margin of the water to feel the dents created by the shield. For millennia I have touched the shell of a transparent egg that hosted a translucent liquid similar to water, there was something in it that called for my recollection of its existence, of a future in the past. My fingers lightly stroked the surface and then I lay in shock. What happened that made it different this time…?
