Well, I proposed to D two days before scheduled. A bottle of wine, watching the city lights while the moon hoovered above us. Between hugs and kisses. Between silent whispers and sex, between passion and fear, between tension and relief. For instants I thought my poor old bed was going to exhale its last, but she standed by us until tired, we fell in each others arms, wasted.
Memory reconstructs the past very subjectively.
D is like a drug I can’t seem to have never enough, but as a drug, I have fears of what is going to be of me if I can’t have it anymore. We went to see Botero’s paintings yesterday at the MAC. I really can’t say who was more nervous, I had built so a strong failsafe system for myself based on the improbability of finding a human I could love that now those are as useless as an umbrella in the midst of a hurricane. Is not the fear to love, is the fear to be hurt, sometimes I just want to ran away, to shut it off, as I used to do, but just the glint in those eyes, chamaleonic in nature, eyes that change litterally in front of you, from brown to whatever shade of the caribbean sea that better reflects the thoughts that are running in that mind, and I stay, afraid, very afraid, but I stay, unable to look, unable to run, ashamed of my own weakness to break that spell. I hope we are doing the right thing.
In the meantime, the company of the gods and the concourse of the living watch the events unfold.
Never feel pity for humans. Pity regards its objects not only as suffering, but weak, and hence as inferior.
Compassion, on the other hand, is the truly mark of the divine.
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