A meta approximation to a Schrödinger's heartbreak.

For a long time, I thought about writing down your effect on me, and the recurrent image was the effect of the Moon over the sea, or Tides. 

Now, when there's no left time, nor anything else to win or lose, the image becomes not only on hand, but also the most beautiful, and bittersweet, way to represent the circumstances.

My dear Eclipse:

This will be the letter of Schrödinger: I might or might not send it, and if I do, it might or might not arrive the way and shape it is now. At the moment, I just write down my thoughts and feelings, hoping to release them through the tension that has built up inside me with time.

This time without you hasn't been easy; the moment I met you and decided to make you part of my life for as long as it lasted, came for me with the full commitment to create a place for you in my heart. For me, one becomes unique the minute they say something that brings them light so I can see their phases... And that is how you appeared in my life, with light and uniqueness. Having you around wasn't only easy, it was also an immense opportunity to learn from you and me, gravity and waves. Moreover, your mere presence meant, in many ways, more than you can now imagine. 

That being said, yours is not a space I can replace or empty, not now, not ever: it is and will be there with endearment and care. Also, for now, with new pain; having left you behind was beyond doubt a painful and hard decision, not only because the idea of doing it before your appearance felt like missing something that I didn't have in the first place, but also because part of me, deep within, didn't want to and opposed it for a while.

For the way I did it, I deeply apologize. That part hurts me the most because I know it hurt you. Is there anything you could or should have done differently? I cannot put myself or you into that position, because interactions themselves are enough to change us and potentially trigger us. Hoping for you to do something differently would've meant for you, changing your own crescent path in nature; and for me, to focus on factors that I can't control rather than the only ones I can, such as who I am, what I can do about it, what deep currents and storms are still there and why, or even if I deserve to grow as a force of nature with your orbit around. I am sorry right now if these words and waves come across as disturbing or selfish, I think part of me knows that part of you might have questions (or not), and overall, all of me knows that you didn't deserve the way I quit.  

I feel profoundly honoured for the cycle we spent together. I feel thankful for your waning light, for being a mirror more times than I can count, for your gentle ways, for your deep respect, for your ancient knowledge, for the force you brought out of me, and for caring... I could transparently feel it. I am also thankful for your shadows because they made you real and not simply an illusion or a mask.

I'll keep thinking and feeling you until the pain gets released enough to keep the essential beauty that involves what we experienced. As I have already said, the place you have in my heart is deep, loving, and yours. 

Yours, too,

Tide.

Onanist

He masturbated with joy when he discovered his inspiring muse.

He masturbated madly when he noticed that she
was looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

He masturbated in disbelief when she showed interest in his talk.

He masturbated euphorically the day he kissed her.

He masturbated calmly when she recognized that she loved him.

He masturbated desperately when they first argued.

He masturbated happily when they looked at each other again.

He masturbated passionately remembering their intimate encounters.

He masturbated helplessly when he knew she was sick.

He masturbated cursing God when he knew there was no hope...

When she died, he did not masturbate anymore.

Onanist, but not a necrophile.

Triste dolor

Yo opino que la tristeza no debería doler en el cuerpo. 

Debería bastar con ese tremendo vacío a la altura del corazón (porque todo lo que ahí había pasó a la cabeza en forma de cuestionamientos, dudas, inseguridades, una visión pesimista del porvenir y, sobre todo, la persistencia de la razón del pesar en la mente, que hace que en cada interacción -con lo humano, lo natural y lo divino- haya una nueva razón para retornar al recuerdo de lo que se siente, cual maldición de Sísifo arrastrando la piedra de aquel vacío). 

Pero no.  

Es muy utópico ceñirlo simplemente a la ceguera del agobio. 

El cuerpo también resiente la ausencia, por lo que cada paso al caminar se convierte en una nueva pequeña tortura... cadenciosa y constante, como una gota que cae y que tras molestar en alguna parte entre los oídos y el pecho, sólo se ve superada por el cansancio creado por el dolor y el vacío, y en honor a ese cansancio, la tortura se vuelve ruido blanco y nos permite dormir. 

Y tal vez esté siendo irreverente con la neurociencia, los opioides y los senderos neurológicos que se recorren en el proceso, no me importa. Tenemos un cuerpo maravilloso, pero injusto. ¿Emo? Pues no... me encanta ser feliz. 

Tal vez por eso me desagrada el cuerpo cuando no ayuda ni siquiera un poquito a sentirse algo mejor, y la conformidad la da (de forma garantizada, aunque en un ritmo mucho más reposado) Don Maravilloso Tiempo.

Memorias.

02.07.19