sábado, 6 de septiembre de 2014

Like Fountains...

I find it ironic that, while I am stopped by the heavy traffic tonight, more rain does not stop, you can enjoy it in this way. Here, in the second floor of the Circuito Interior, taking sides as second or third floors of apartment buildings, as trees give the environment a different perspective; multicolor lush forest of concrete, on a balcony of many, a building shaped blade. There, in the distance, is she, oblivious to my presence. Is wearing a baggy trousers vermilion, which is pasted at strategic points to her body, showing her figure. Her white blouse allows me to observe from where I sit, the perfect forms of her small breasts, which give rise to long, slender neck. His short, black hair topped with a tiara, can see the fine features of his youth. Looks rehearse a dance routine and is so engrossed in the making of choreography that I may, unintentionally, be part of the movement starting to run so graceful. Just then the car music player starts playing "Like Fountains" from The Gathering and melody slowly going towards it along with my spirit. She receives and slowly adapting to the flow of the music, every step and every turn. Remain, then, entranced by every chord, for each turn she does here in this intimate show, where we have already been mutually agreed, a silent and non-existent in my head rather than treatment. This ethereal muse effigy of staring into the thoughts of his next move.
How were we staying in this circumstance? What fate has united me imperfect her for a few moments? I do not know. Just understand that, by that time in the rain continues to fall and the traffic does not allow me to move further, it will be mine.
Then the door of the apartment opened and the girl even stopped traffic and fully aware that much remains therefore determines the aerial view that nothing has advanced in a while, I see who has entered and fall into a deep surprise. It's me. I have traveled there. She watches me, stops and runs perfect way to meet me, as ballet dancers when they come on stage. She hugs me. It's mine and I theirs. She whispers that she missed me. Now your world is complete again and answer than mine so this at the time, with her so close to me. And start over again his choreography, while hugging, leaning on my chest. Raise your feet slightly to get the highest possible near my face. But still, tips, agile and delicate, show me taking over me. To contain myself. To dominate me in every breath without opening those eyes that take me out of trouble so as my soul might suggest. And I get carried away in a sudden infatuation with a stranger, in a piece of music that I know, but attracted by the inert and silent promise of love that will never be. Walk the streets of my old Nezahualcoyotl, where children run alongside Carmen, who is sure to be as beautiful as this stranger who has stolen my heart. Every drop of rain brings me to a memory. I recall those school breaks when I climbed the tree next to his house, only to see it while rehearsing a dance and again those he loved so much. And I realize that this is the same. Again I find myself perched on a high place, this time seeing a girl I do not know, something he likes to dance but what I do not find to much. A memory of everlasting gloom and silence. As a first kiss while I float here. As lines in a plane are dark silhouettes and intrinsic forms of a story that will never be finished. Now. Beside her, taking her by the waist and never asked to leave as well be the world as dead to us, because they only care about this moment when I left, eventually lead like never before. So we stay for a few minutes. Spinning.
Then kisses me. His lips attached to mine, giving me a promise of heaven I could find in his arms. he failed to understand that stupor, and while a tear rolls down the left side of my face, I thank you for giving so exalted moment. She smiles and more hits to my body, letting out a little sigh of satisfaction, never wanting to stop living this dream. Lovers of a time that is not ours. Loving a memory that is not space. Not for long, but by fate. Because I will never see. And then my other self, the man who is holding her, turns to me, winking, while the idle swinging resumes that eventually lead me to my destination ...

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