miércoles, 11 de enero de 2017

Perfect

So what if we weren't joking?

That morning in my bed, when I was about to make us pancakes before finding out I had bought the wrong kind of flour. "What are you doing in Baltimore?", my friend asked.

"You're making pancakes for your future husband!" you roared on your Bear voice and I came back to bed, laughing while you held me close.

We looked into each other's eyes and both our souls were there,
both our hearts,
both our minds as you babbled along about the Queen Honey, the King Bear and the cubs.

(I just teared up remembering it, it was so sweet and pure.)

I left the bed towards the kitchen, wearing my cheap blue top on which you said I looked "gorgeous"
(are you sure you weren't drunk, sweet love?).
There were still a couple bottles of Belgian beer standing on my table as I walked through the rug where we met.

And it was perfect.

And I could keep on describing almost every second we spent with each other,
the hot water that poured over our heads,
the white magic that covered our first ever walk outside,
the kisses we shared the first time we said goodbye,
and it wouldn't matter because I would be saying the same thing,
over and over again.

That it was perfect.

So, what if we weren't joking?

(What if it all comes true one day?)

Oh, darling, it wouldn't make any difference.
Because, you know? It would be perfect.
It would be perfect as well.

sábado, 7 de enero de 2017

Any advice

- So, any advice for my twenties? -she said.

I paused a moment, took a sip of my juice. I blew air out of my nose and shrugged a bit, heavy lies the crown sort of way.

- No. -I said. -Whatever I tell you you're still gonna do what you want. Only maybe that it's not your twenties that you should care about, and it's not the big decisions the ones that are really gonna keep you up at night. It's the little ones. The every day.

Life is not short. We have a very long life expectancy now, we live epic long lives, and your twenties seem definitive, yes, but that doesn't mean that when you end them that's it, that was all you could ever do with your life. If you're going to live until 80 do you really want to spend the next 50 years remembering a very long ago prime?

It's odd now, but eventually you'll understand the meaning of the word irrevocable. When things are done and gone by, when there are no second chances, when you screwed up and there's no turning back, and it's a big mistake, and you fucked up bad. And you still have to live with it, because this is it, this is your life, it's happening right now.

You have to let go of the notion that there usually are entirely right choices or entirely wrong ones. Yes, you should know that raping is bad and that taking care of our planet is good, but most likely, you're not going to make the decision of whether we go to war or arrive to Mars. Yes, you can make a difference, yes, your vote counts, but the here, the now, the breakfast and the date and the deadline, that's your life, the exam you didn't study for, the glass of wine you didn't drink with your spouse because you were caught up at work, the laugh that eased off a confession, the unexpected hug that made someone feel warmth for the first time in months, that is your life.

It's not the spectacle what you'll remember deeply within your bones, beneath your skin. It's the rawness, the realness, the grit. It's not whether a bikini fitted you or not, it's whether you felt loved. Or maybe it's me. Maybe it's the way I live life.

I choked up a bit, swallowed, and smiled. I felt tears building up on my eyes and I tried not to close them so that no tears would fall down.