Dear D,
It’s never been more appropriate than now. I don’t know what it is about me, or you, that is so confusing. We link words, perhaps syntax. Like just as you turn to watch the Hop arrive, I turn the corner.
D, do not come near me. I’m not like you, like any of you. Do you understand? We don’t look at each other from now on, you hear? Finish your beer. Your game of poker or finish whatever is full of you. Whatever is with you. I’m not quite sure about that. Letters: but I want to understand. I want to know, D. Fully. A rendezvous in the snow. In slippers that belong to somebody else. It is the first time I want to and cannot. Let me be totally honest.
A part of me seeks to be transparent. Not of skin, of course, of scent either. Only from and towards the taste. The sea of last time, remember? You tasted it and I did too, by accident. Drank it in, I couldn’t refuse. Dearest D, this is the so-called stance. See “Caridad”.
PS. Sometime ago I found you and now I don’t.
I haven’t written until now because I did not know what to call you. Except tonight. I heard it in the car lights against the drizzle. Somewhere in the world there is a sound. The sound is used as the name for something and it can be used to call a soft, cool blowing and the same word, elsewhere, means a slight rain. Nicaraguan/Puertorican. Today I can call you by your name: abyss.
Forgive me for having left things not built. In progress, under construction, mid air. No flowery words, no structures, just grit and foundation, plans, blueprints, intention, wait. I want to know you, but not like before. Not adjacent. To meet you on the surface, as an outline, or what we can’t enter nor become. Use me as your last resort.
Urgently,
-Bajo
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