danny

everything that comes from you to me, for me it is perfect. it is magic. it is something out of my mind, perhaps you can read it. surely you can read me.

and i want you. but i want to have you. and i don’t seem to understand that the only way to have you is to let you go.

to let…
you…
go….

stupid of me, stupid of me.

what is?

what is this excitement when you call? what is this anxiety, this “feelin’ eerie and swell” at the same time? what is this start thuinking about you and not too much about work? what is this feeling of miss when you call me to meet me for a cigarrette and i’m on the other side of town? what is this jumping up and down inside and this dizziness and the need to be close to you in that exact instant, even for a couple of minutes?

is it what i think it is?

i hope not, i really don’t need this right now, i really don’t…

when it comes to money, i’m a child. actually, when it comes to anything, i’m a child.

you know the notion of money? i don’t have it. by miles i don’t. my father used to tell me i did not have it as in i could not define if someting is too expensive or not. how am i to know? if i like it, then it is not expensive, it is necessary!

i guess i won’t ever be a millionaire.

at the end it is all about money. oh my, life can be lived with so little, but not here, but not now.

i’ ve been broke for longer than i remember. it has not been easy. lonliness comes roaming down to me, friends and good moments seem so far away. i’ve been living a life that does not make sense but in the novels, i might as well start writing and make some money out of not having any. but i don’t know how to write.

the depths of the soul are layered. they come one by one and visit you and you tremble. and then suddenly you feel a little breeze, a hit of air that lifts you centimeters and just when you feel saved, redeemed from the loneliness and despair, a new hole opens up and swallows you, deepest saliva numbing and sucking you to a new darkness, a deeper place inside you, the one you always denied: yourself.

we’re made of many faces, manifold and complex as the air and the sea. the brief illusion of coherence keeps one alift for the time it takes to all demons to build up and strangle back, tentacles surrounding, piercing, sucking into your bones and tissue and heart and rendering you human again, multiple and complex and chaos again.

fear takes the mob to call science and name you a name that locks you behind a soft door inside soft walls inside a hard shirt,a nd they’re saved. and you’re back on the only company you know; million thoughts, million forces, million voices inside your worthless and tired breast. back to the abyss.

the abyss of you.

i have this thing… i wait for you.

i wait for a message, for a call. i sometimes watch the phone as it is about to ring, and not. of course not. i’m like the ivy, i invade and i take. i attach to it. and you don’t want that.

i should be smarter, i could be smarter. being with you could be important to the point where i know what to do and when to secure you around. like playing along. but stupidity is queen. impatience is part of my repertoire, it is a condition that lives inside me, tearing bridges down and letting me alone in the dark, sucking my thumb and waiting for mom to come and rescue me from the world that i built to myself.

my only solitaire castle, my fortress of invasion. like the barbarians, i built it by invading, so faithful to my soul that it cannot be invaded. metres of brick and mortar separating myself from them, from you.

you’d never read this, i’d never let you. my suffering is my strength. it is the wolf in me that sticks the bricks together and it is the man in me that contemplates the desolated patios and rooms, the untouched furniture and the unwatched paintings in the walls of my soul.

one day, like the oldest of those conquering tribes’ cities, mine will be rediscovered. until that moment, i wander, roaming the empty spaces, looming and yearning for my saviour, for that whom will bring me peace.