I went to sleep late, 3:33. I switched off the lights, heard Chinar’s sights in the other corner, felt a mosquito biting my little toe and closed my eyes. My mind was wondering around the streets of your city, I could hear little kids speaking about going for a swim while the sound of some planes full of white faces were arriving to your father’s house. I’m sorry his house was never yours. I will pretend I know the future and I’ll promise you that this time you will feel at home. Your dream will now be reality and whenever you come from outside into the house she will be singing, your arms will hold her body and she will give you a sweet kiss. I promise you this time it will happen and it will be so beautiful that your legs won’t be scared of walking to her to say you are not scared of the end.
I’m listening to some music from Cuzco. At home, the walls don’t isolate me from my neighbor’s nostalgia. He listens to this all the night, noon and sunrise. Sometimes I follow the lyrics with my voice, say a word in quechua and pretend I know all the languages in the world. In my dreams I do, that is how I understood the children. Mom says it seems I’m waiting for someone to come and I need a sound to calm my desperate heart. I guess it will be like that for a long time, counting the minutes until you come home.
Today at 2: 22, waiting while eating carrot cream of cucumber soup (Indian style, after two years I still don’t get it).
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