Not so far from yesterday

31 days without him and counting. Her mind does it unconsciously, every night she adds a mark in her wall. Each mark is for one less hug she could´ve gotten, another memory that no matter how hard it tries time won´t take away.

She keeps flying, only to hit the wall that keeps her from going back to him every time the wings get bigger. That flight is a torture as well as a gift, she savors the good moments with sweetness, but can´t avoid tasting the sour flavor that the bad ones have.

And it seems it was yesterday when it rained, yesterday when they lived the goodbye that their love story was determined to tell. It was moments ago when he squeezed her hand reassuring that the ashes would never be carried by the wind, even if the flames went out.

Every step she takes carries her father from that tale, but her heart doesn´t anyone else come near it, it still belongs to him, and it has built up a wall to keep anyone from going in.

Her mornings are a lament for having to walk without reaching his arms, a moment of melancholy for watching the cars go by and not seeing his face in the window.

Hours, days and weeks will go by and maybe the bricks that protect her heart will fall down slowly, but marks will keep being added in the wall next to her bed. And who knows, maybe a smile once in a while.

Broken

Distance is relative, that's what they say, what they want to make me believe. But I know the truth. Distance is void, it's a black pit of darkness measured in kilometers when it really should be counted in heart beats.

Boom. All the faces I recognize together once again and I'm sitting alone in a solitary corner. Nobody notices it, but the wound opens.

Boom. Our song comes on the radio, the one that had all our hands in the air and our hips going crazy. I turn the volume down because I don't have anyone to dance with now. The crack gets bigger.

Boom. A picture of us hugging, that group hug in a foreign country, slips out of the album almost wanting to make the bleeding faster.

Boom. I reread old conversations we had for hours planning afternoons that ended up with us rolling on the floor laughing and wish I could be the one who got to every place early and had to wait in the cold mountain air again. My feet can't hold of me anymore so they let me fall.

Boom. I find an old pen in my bag, the one who wrote all the secrets, smirks, ideas and moments in that classroom. I throw it away as drops fall with it.

Boom. A scene of that movie we acted is on the television, I see myself in a character and I see the laughs, dances, uncoordinated melodies, hilarious costumes in the colors of the film. I scream as my middle tears in half.

Boom. I smell the aroma of our freedom, joy and friendship. Endless afternoons in the park talking about our futures. I wrap my arms around myself to try to keep the pieces from breaking any further.

It won't beat anymore, it has stopped and all I feel is emptiness. The distance has overwhelmed me and it has taken the biggest part of me; it doesn't look willing to give it back.

A jewell

I breathe in the sticky air that travels through the train. My thoughts and wonders go along with it. I see people go in and out constantly; people with different stories, minds, ages, colors, expressions on their faces that show desperation, excitement, freedom, stress, happiness, sadness... Every person who sits next to me leaves something: a word, a smile, a step.

The train reaches my stop and I get out, craving to look at what's outside, waiting to draw a map in my mind of the streets I still haven't walked on, the green lights that encourage me to go on, and the colossal buildings reflecting the sky's mood.

The first thing I see is a tree with green leaves that are on the verge of being painted brown by autumn. It's not a solitary tree; it has others keeping him company down this long avenue. These trees living in the windy city are being shielded by powerful constructions on their sides, colorful doors that are waiting to be opened, and lights that will have to wait until it's their time to shine.

I keep walking and see cameras, driven by their obsession with wanting to freeze every minute. There's something about the shape and tones of this unique city that makes me want to capture it all, remember every place where my feet have walked on and every scene my eyes want to paint with all the shades that this view offers.

A sweet smell gets to me and I can almost savor it in my mouth, the flavor of many types of foods that come from opposite corners of the world. Diversity, that's the word that comes into mind when I think about the story of this city. The story of distinct people that have somehow ended, or are just beginning, life in this never ending maze, speaking their own language and waiting for their heart to be complete.

My feet are going on by themselves, but they know where they're going even if they feel confused. They reach the river and stop. Now my heart's the one leading me, and it's filled with euphoria upon contemplating the water that flows with it's crystalline color and soothing music.

Dodging time and light I can't help but stop once in a while, in a park to look at myself in that symbol, knowing that there's a before and after through all of this; in a corner cloaked with the smell of coffee and old books that live inside a library; in a window where there's a picture of a white blanket covering every street.

Then, without realizing it, I reach the end, the lake. The lake that somehow made a hole in the planes and decided to be part of the northern setting. It gives the perfect balance to this crowded place, gifting it with peace and wholeness.

The sun tells me it's time to go and I feel pleased, knowing I'm falling little by little. Falling for Chicago.

2 a.m.

I constantly dream about opening my window and feeling the orange morning sun rise up between the translucent buildings. I dream of living on the thirteenth floor, where luck exists only for those who want to find it. I dream of city life, people rushing by with opposite destinations but sharing goals. I dream of a spark that'll up all of the sudden and take me exactly where my heart wants to go, since it hasn't told my mind yet. That spark will help me avoid all the reds and wrong turns through these streets.

I dream of people I haven't met, hands I haven't held, steps I've never danced, words I haven't written but are there, in some part of me, waiting to be spilled like a glass of water, breaking with impact, making noise and spreading out wetting all that's around.

In these dreams there's always the proper music playing, rising like adrenaline with every word, there's also time to think about the similarity that connects chances and risks where there's an opportunity that is waiting to be taken.

There's peace...

But then,

I wake up.

What if

There's no option. I'm stuck between missing you and thinking that you're still by my side. My heart is slowing breaking, piece by piece, as I remember our last goodbye. That small kiss that felt so big, because it said so much, all the words we hadn't said out loud were there, in the air and then holding themselves onto us. Another part of me falls to the ground in the shape of a memory; that train station that we knew so well, sitting on the stairs with my head on your lap trying to hold the tears in. But I couldn't.

The worst part is thinking of ifs. If I hadn't had to leave you'd still be mine. If I'd stayed like I promised we wouldn't have needed to count the days, they'd be laid like a path of stone before us. If destiny had thought different of it, summer would've told a whole different story. Now all I can do is think of your eyes staring back at me with that sadness swirling in them. Sadness and longing that'll always be present wherever I go.