Athens, February the seventh of two thousand thirteen

A long day is perishing, its dawn was short, its rain perpetual and its air heavy,
And I think it is a shame that you are not here with me, now that I look my watch and its 6 o’clock in the afternoon.

I have the stark feeling that Athens was much,, much more yellow with you here,

now that in my magic eyes are candles, and in my head bells, and that I listen the tachycardic throb of this keyboard,
being punched with rugged fingers for almost 3 pages, now that I see the clock and its 7 already,

I pop my knuckles just to harvest some cassavas for you, and briefly, I found myself judicious.

Because, today as always, and also as ever, I think it is a shame that you are not here with me…

My left foot aches like hell and I think about which running shoes I will buy, then I cherish the time we bought your brown running shoes and then, wonder the ones I just picked will like you, because
Maybe, in that near and also far day of fall, I will be using them, when I met you again.

Maybe then I will watch into my cellphone and, being 8 p.m. already, you will say  “Hello, my love” while walking toward me … and I will say “Hello, my heifer”… And we will stand right there, both of us… me, stained with the green sea color of your glaucomic eyes, and you, with the blue stain of my banished loneliness.

My voice, now filled with skeletons and ghosts, breaths with the asthma of an old sadness.

Sadness, cursed and profound, and in even deeper hideout that despite the evident, I just preserve the sensation but not the face, maybe the same last, red, and painful of Hemingway’s.

The same feeling is the one that prevents me from turning off the lights of this room and give a new kiss, honest and juvenile, or the boldness of accidentally pouring some sauce over a friendly skin and sip from it, or to look into a pair of new alien eyes, that just seconds ago threw their dice to Destiny.

3 plays in the same game and 58 weeks after, I am older but not happier. I have been living on palliatives of love. There are 10 inches of distance between your heart and mine, but 5000 miles of silence between my face and yours… Thus, they scream at me with the strength of their paroxytones, the EVPs of Love.