As I reflect on all these emotions you have brought out of me at this white table,
it is only fair that I share with you the memories that you have returned to me,
not that you asked for it and in fact, I'm sure you could give two shits.
However, I need to address what the feelings call for.
I hate flowers. I mean, from the first time I noticed the shape of one at tia Mirella's funeral, a rose with such dark color, small, fragile, and why would I be considering the shape of a rose in such tragical moment? But it is such an incomprehensible habit to throw a rose to the uneven hole of the dead, hoping for what? Did the rose leave with her soul as well, to where? flower heaven?
Since then, it seems as if I've noticed every rose, every petal in every funeral attended, and seek for a why. All those flowers so familiar, so similar to the last ones, and then,
His.
What is the meaning behind flowers, god, if they all recall death to me.
His funeral was full of them, everywhere, reassuring me, confirming that he was dead and that I was dying too.
I just wanted to burn those flowers, to make them disappear,
and I was ready to do so but grandma looked so weak, and I was weak, and the pills were kicking in. I held my last flower there with a promise to never hold back, and to many more promises that I've yet knew I had. Funny how promises seem to carry out in such odd ways, and take so long to fall through.
Well, I have held back way more than what I promised. Except for the who I am, and I think that is fair enough. The rest such as tears, actions, and thoughts are just temporary hold backs, because they eventually come out.
I don't want to lose you in this nonsense, keep track cause flowers are not the only thing I hate. I hate my conscious too. I hate her because she analyzes too much, she becomes so introverted and constantly reminds me that I have half of a soul. I hate her selfishness, so unsatisfied she is, nothing I do is enough. She keeps on searching for reasons to live without allowing me, and us for that matter, to decide on those reasons. She constantly reminds me of my past, the who I was, my mistakes, my failures, my miserable frustrations, my nonsense, my nonsense times two. And of course she reminds me of how unhappy I have been. I learn about her everyday, in fact I changed my career to focus my life in understanding the why of her behavior.
The reasons why I try so hard to forget, to be happy, to fight, and when I have it all figured out, she reminds me and I remember my missing part. When I feel life and death so close to me, the smell of morphine at the tip of my fingers, I remember my missing part.
How do you do it? that's my question really, admiring your strength at a distance
because in a way this is all I would want to have. We are so distant yet I can easily observe what to grasp from your life, and find comfort in the enigma of your name. I don't want anything I promise, I don't seek for your pity nor your words of advice neither an answer to my questions. I just want the permission to contemplate such special human being. You, with your struggles and flaws, and even with a curious conscious as mine, you seem to have risen and managed the pain beyond the heart.
Taking away all these accidents that are just part of what is most visible to me, I contemplate your soul, your feelings, your assumed desires with no intention but to gradually steal some of that strength that I always seek to find.
And I just hope you don't mind my stare, stranger.
