think of home for me, will you? hear the kettle boiling in the background, lone wolf howling in the night; the crockery clattering like crickets chirping; the steaming mug of coffee turning whiter still with every drop of milk.
remember the beige carpets, the perilous stairs, the strange creaking under floorboards: my parents’ house. or nobody’s house. a piece of rented haven.
but it was home. and d’you remember the first time we made out on the sofa in the living room downstairs? the day after i turned single and we couldn’t wait much longer? the irony of that day was not lost on me. how could it be? the impact on the window smashing is not forgotten by the frame: the memory is always there – gentle pulpitations in the soft grooves of the wood.
you see, beginnings shape the world.
quietly, carefully, they smooth the edges, polish outer surfaces, let us glean a little of the inside. they are a little mirror straight into the lover’s heart, a sphere held between the middle finger and the thumb, a kite.
it’s the beginning that lets me know where home is: with my hands on your neck; with your head on my lap.
like a child
falling into a towering house of flimsy cards
i trip
into the rhythm of you.
each step:
a cautious forward stumble
into unknown, into benign,
the magic of your foreign eyes
sparkling.
Posted in excerpts
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the week is nearly over. again.
and it feels like rain on skin in the heat of summer, raising goosebumps in spite of its warmth.
i never want anything to end.
not even nightmares.
i drag them out carefully, tossing and turning, roasting, like a pig, in my own cold sweat.
i had one every night this week. sometimes two. and i remember. i don’t keep tabs on my subconsiousness because it scares me. the brutality of the mind always scares me. and i dream of death. of death and failure.
y flores. flores para los muertos.
right now, my world is a house made of paper: cards with pretty scribbles on them, where blanche‘s words i lived in a house where dying old women remembered their dead men have more than substance; they have depth to go on and on, revolving in my head.
i’ve seen them from every angle. i swear.
what is it with death?
i’ve always said i have to die before the one i love. i couldn’t stand life otherwise. and i’ve made you promise you won’t die before me. i’ve made you promise me the unthinkable, the unpredictable, the unpromisable.
i did it just because sometimes i just need to know that you won’t die.
Posted in chapters of my life
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our fifth month together and all i’ve given you for our anniversary is a revelation of my secret admirer and some of the passion in me.
my english boy. the english boy.
have i told you i always searched for that blonde, blue-eyed and tall perfection?
you’re not blonde and he’s not tall. but it’s you that got me sussed.
if this was a myth, you’d be poseidon reigning me in and he’d be a young soldier, soft features made of marzipan. i, i would be a siren, luring with words and laughter, light touch of my fingers on his a cheek, my toes dipping through the waters of your realm.
so now you know.
and he’s got a girlfriend : clever, but not as clever as me; irresistible but easy. and i’m not. well, not the latter.
so hand me his head on a platter.
i’ll serve him up a game that he can’t win.
i just wish you didn’t know.
his anonimity was something sacred, special. one song i left unsung. so i’ll confuse you, make you doubt all i’ve told you. one can never be too safe in grips of love. and my love for you has spilled over the bank. a scarlet flood.
still, i will be a spy in the house of love.
but as a siren.
and both of you will see me and breathe me in. now that you know each other, you will do so together.
and S will join you.
three’s company, two is none.
Posted in chapters of my life
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what made me think it was a good idea?
i think i must chase pain for its little thrills. there’s just no other explanation.
you’re not as fussed, though i’m not sure you know how much i love you. the problem’s me. again. and i can’t stop my churning gut from heaving.
fear is not a strong enough word to describe this violent smashing of glass inside.
i’m in a daze, a momentary lapse where all thought is illusion.
i pounded the streets by myself this morning. thank god for all his little offerings. i feel lighter now, somehow.
and i saw the sunrise today, but looking at the oranges and pinks merge, i felt sick. i barely slept: five hours of restless turning, waking and then falling into a half-conscious state, where dreams merge with reality.
and all because we went to your friends little gathering yesterday.
your ex was there.
it was all so last minute, i’m sure it was her that convinced him to invite us. she had it all planned, no doubt.
we had WKD and pringles and your friend’s mum’s wine and somewhere in between the truth and dare and spin the bottle all mixed into one, i kissed your ex. and so did you. and then you both laid on my bosom. my harem.
it was all jokey and fun and whatnot else, but it’s not how i approach my relationships. it’s not how i roll. and what if this pulls us apart? you felt guilty kissing her, you said. i didn’t. it was all so absurd i almost couldn’t believe it was true.
but it happened.
and we left just before clock stroke midnight, because i guess there’s a cinderella lost in me, and you held me tight a few steps away from the house and kissed me fevereshly. adrenaline of fear had washed our bodies: we could have kissed all night.
and i don’t regret any of it.
so why do i feel so broken inside?
Posted in chapters of my life
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glittering soot on her eyelashes 
