Diario de mis pesadillas

I would always ask my brother to dance with me at family gatherings. He never did. Not once. Not even on our birthday. We were never there for each other. I want to say I tried. You never apologized. You can’t change. I am so much like you it scares me. I don't want to keep holding on to grudges. I really hope you'll do better. But for now, if you come to me with your nonsense, bite me, motherfucker. When you change we can talk. Otherwise, spare me the sermon. And the goodbyes. - He intentado practicar lo que predico pero creo que lo que me da más miedo es que somos idénticos. Me veo reflejada en todos sus defectos. - Nada de nada. De nada. Olvídate de que existo. Conmigo no cuentes. Nos vemos en el infierno.

"Achú" y Nelson despertó. Una noche cualquiera, un sueño cualquiera. La nariz de esta historia tiene carácter propio, y uno bastante peculiar. Toda su vida se había resignado a estar pegada al cuerpo, a la misma rutina del día a día. El cuerpo en que vivía no era tan interesante como otros cuerpos, de bomberos, indigentes o chocolateros, con todo tipo de olores. Su cuerpo era el de un abogado en sus cuarenta y tantos. Llevó la misma vida desde joven, dedicado enteramente al trabajo. No tenía familia ni hobbies, además de quedarse dormido frente al televisor. Nelson, la nariz, estaba harto de esto y no resistiría más. Quería ser independiente y buscar su lugar en el mundo, su propósito. Lo decidió esa misma tarde, aunque la idea se había planteado en su intrépido cerebro la noche anterior. Había entrado un olor desde la casa de al lado, siempre llena de niños y risas, que lo hizo ponerse a pensar. Era dulce, tan dulce como el sabor de responder todas sus dudas. Duran...

Las horas más largas son las que paso sola conmigo. El cielo está cansado ya de ver la lluvia caer. Y yo estoy cansada también. De mí. Voy a terminar conmigo. Y dale con los cantantes colombianos. - It's like the longest movie. I look at people. Doing things. But how. I usually just watch. I don't do things. I cannot even picture myself doing them. So now I'm sitting here, waiting for the movie to end. That's what it feels like. No rent to pay, no deadlines. I don't need anything. That's why I don't do anything. I complain about things that make no sense. Look at everything I left behind. This is what I wanted. It seemed so much easier when I didn't have to actually do it. But other people do. And they seem pretty fucking stable. They don't let you see them cry. Oh and how I love to cry. - Escribir se me ha hecho distinto estos días. Estos meses. Pesado no. Es distinto. No quiero. Entonces tengo estas ideas breves y orac...

Le doy vueltas al catire. He won’t bite. I have been thinking about it recently. A lot. What his lips might taste like. Waking up next to him, he has to go to work early but lets me sleep in his bed while he gets ready. That sweet, sweet body in a white shirt and boxers. In the sunlight. Those eyes. Fixed on mine. I hate having to go through all of this. Would you just show up at my door, come in and start taking my clothes off. Sweet, sweet desire. The things I would do to you. - Solo una birra, me dijo antes de salir. Cuando lo dejamos en su casa ya era de día. Se despidió desde el asiento de atrás, sin haber salido del carro. Cuando se bajó lo agarré por la chaqueta y le planté un beso en el cachete mientras pasaba un dedo por sus labios. He wouldn't kiss me again. Fue la última vez que lo vi.

What shape is the key to your intimacy? We were never on the same page. I loved you from the beginning, knowing this was pointless. I cannot get you out of my head to this day. It’s not a matter of whether the pros outweigh the cons. It’s a matter of knowing that I’ll find myself in this place again. Cornered. This is exhausting. And it doesn't make me happy anymore. I'm worn out. You win. - If it doesn't open, it is not your door. - Ya es tarde. Hay puertas que se cierran y que nunca se abren. Ahora soy yo quien dice no. ¿A dónde irá el amor que un día te tuve? - It is done. This time I mean it. Puedes tomarme en serio ahora. Todo es mentira. Es la última vez que te burlas de mí.

I imagine perhaps this is what it feels like. When I tell him I've missed him because the feeling hits me suddenly, or the memories, or the loneliness. And he texts back right away with a message of support and promise. And when it's the other way around, and I'm just not feeling it, and I'm a little grossed out by emotion in general or feeling nothing at all, I even hesitate to text back. And when I feel this way about this other guy I cannot help but think about it for hours that turn into days. And when I do text him, it sounds corny and cryptic and heavy and not deserving of any sort of reply. So I guess he must feel the way I do. Or not care that much, or at all.

I watched this short film last night. My sister sent it to me a few days ago. She was clearing space in her hard drive. She does this to get rid of things but not entirely. It made me uncomfortable. It was insightful, though. It felt like the kid was speaking directly to me and of my actions. She spoke about the time she fell in love with a rock, then a fuel pump, then an alien, then an older clone. They were separated each time, due to life's daily trivialities, and death. Work, money, life, death. Places, people, technology, magic, death. Even the clones died eventually, whether out in space due to low-cost time travel, or due to the passing of time. There were downloadable memories, clones, no emotional capabilities, a brainless body growing old in a museum exhibit for people to see, and constant conversation of the inevitable doom that awaits. It's like they're trying to tell me something but I can't wrap my head around it. "Do not lose time on daily...