Some autumn day, 2022
Chiquilla,
I'm going to start writing you letters with no sender and a cliché as a postcard to never deliver them to you. Telling you everything I feel at this point is just redundant and also frightening. I feel scared of annoying you with my repetitions, or that the same ones will make me see that, again, all this affection is only in my head. Still, I owe these lines to myself, and this honesty, to this feeling.
Every time I think of you, it smells like dawn, like tranquility. But if I express it, it's like opening my eyes to a silent room, to a brick wall, to my empty bed and the routine of waiting for you to remember me.
So much I have written to you and I always come to the same conclusion: if I have you today, I don't need to think about tomorrow.
However, tomorrow always comes, and if you're not there, I'm not quite sure if I should keep waiting.
What am I waiting for, chiquilla? Or will I spend my whole life searching, failing, and starting all over again?
Before you, there were several. Before me, as well.
Could it be then that this crossover of destinies is nothing more than that?
Could it be that I have to learn to let you go even when you are not mine?
On you has always depended the length of my poems and the time of my stay. Still, I don't want you to worry, you don't carry any responsibilities. Nor should you bother to ask me: you well know that I am already yours, and the day I cease to be so, I will be crossing someone else's fate under mere obligation.
If I were any colder, I wouldn't be here.
But my impatience clung to your eyes and my passions to your hands. Every detail either takes my breath away or motivates it (sometimes for good, sometimes for bad).
I try to convince myself that we were just a coincidence, chiquilla, one of those you don't want to let go. That if it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else. If it hadn't been me, the same.
Ultimately, this is where I find myself. In the silent room with brick walls. And this is where I wait for you. My days have come down to that. I wait for you, and I hope you're on the other side, waiting for me too.
If you plan to already be on your way to being someone else's coincidence, I won't hold it against you. If you're tired of waiting, just as I am, then lean in.
Just lean in.
Look for me among these little reddish holes.
Listen to all these promises I swore I'd never make again.
Feel the confinement turn to sand.
And when you find me, look at me for a second, think of me all your life.
Chiquilla, are you there?
Aa
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