43- You are in my veins
\- Just to say that that day you were born and you turned on all the lights so that I would follow you. Two years later, on that same date, you invited me to be born. And I would say yes to you a million times more. Even knowing the end of our story. Because I love to shine between your fingers while you make me tiny like a firefly. And you remind me that I am your ugly bug with big eyes.
I finished reading it, I let go of Anastasia's hand and she brought both hands to her face covering her cheeks
\- How embarrassing that you read that!
\- Hahaha it's okay bug, it's not that bad.
\- Look... - I took her chin and looked for her gaze, I covered her eyelashes with my hand. I removed them immediately because Anastasia began to blink and tickle the palm of my hand.
\- How do you do it? - I asked her.
\- Do what…
\- How do you manage to be so beautiful, so special and so mine? – Anastasia lit up completely and her cheeks reddened.
\- I don't know, that's how I was born – Bicho raised an eyebrow. I looked at her with a deep and disturbing seriousness.
I can go anywhere
But no other love
Can take me there
It was night, and the rain didn't stop. Now the only sound that accompanied the fingers running over the laptop were the raindrops breaking against the city. Anastasia, lost in her thoughts, danced with her hands as she typed on the keyboard.
Paola, I always suspected that the day we said that “goodbye”, it would be in unison. I thought that, just like when we love each other, we would go at the same pace, and that our coherence would warn us which fuck would be the last; so that, in addition to that, it would also be unforgettable. But far from being right, I have left your life, and you remain installed here, unable to let go. I knew—or wanted to know—that after forgetting me, a reset process would begin in you that would remind you again that my timid hands were the only ones that knew when and how to stick the “I love you” in your back. The goodbye seemed simple, yes. But I know that the simplicity of our relationship was what you liked most about us. And beyond our nature and our race, there was something that neither of us could ever explain; when we shone, we made magic.
Anastasia stopped writing. She sighed and left the laptop on the floor, around a pile of pillows on the carpet in the room. She walked to Melisa's kitchen and poured herself a glass of milk. She moved levitating, as if she were floating through the hallway and her mind was far away from there. Returning to the room, she stared at a pile of books on the floor next to the laptop. She picked up a small book. “Separate Rooms” by Gabriel Garcia Montero. Opening it, the book contained handwritten texts, scribbled on the edges of the author’s verses. Anastasia scanned the letters and recognized his handwriting, then a thick, shiny tear fell on the book.
I can go
I can go anywhere
But no other love
Can take me there…
Barefoot, wearing a long t-shirt and sleep shorts, Bicho was next to Paola in a hotel room in Caracas, Venezuela. She turned over her body, lying on the bed, and looked at the ceiling. A full-length mirror suspended above both of them gave her back her reflection. Paola’s hips shone and illuminated the room with the lights off. Anastasia could barely breathe through small spasms. In an attempt to preserve that moment intact as she watched the two of them embrace in the mirror suspended from the ceiling, she turned face down and closed her eyes, Paola hugged her tightly; an Anastasia with a few more years of experience lay face down and looked at Melisa's room, Charlie slept between the pillows at the edge of the bed. The sheets, the blankets, her legs, the blankets... Paola's legs wrapped around her felt so cold. She let out a moan.
No other love
Darling I'm flying
It seemed that Paola's chest was shining beneath her satin blouse when she played the guitar, she felt a jovial tingle in her fingers and her nails shone in silver sparkles. Her companions and colleagues continued playing, the sound of the violins flooded her chest and a voice full of harmony expanded from within. Paola smiled and immersed herself in the notes of the guitar. As she sang she visualized an empty chair in La Sala de Sevilla, singing, she walked slowly around the place with the lights of her eyes half-closed on the silhouettes of the people, not looking at them more than a blurry sketch. Then she looked for something she had lost a long time ago and the place broke into applause. And she, drawn from her trance, turned to her fellow musicians smiling.
\- Thank you very much. Thank you.
Paola lowers her gaze and takes the capo placed on the music stand, places it on the note of A minor on the guitar. Her gaze seemed to touch the deep delights of the As vague, delicate and voluptuously silent, the reality framed under her long, bright eyelashes seemed to dissolve in La Sala de Sevilla when she observed the audience. In her mind she immersed herself in the places where she could have played and those stages she would never set foot on again. Determined to enjoy that moment, her present, she introduced the next song.
\- The next song is called “In my veins”. One, two, three… ok
Nothing goes as planned
Everything will break
The city of Caracas sleeps in its own special and unique way. The smoke from the traffic and the noise of the city fade with the twilight. Only lovers breathe the fresh air of a Caracas that rests in the abysses of reality, those who run distances to find freedom in every corner during the night. Bicho sleeps on my chest, hugs me tightly as if he feared that when he wakes up I would no longer be there. I will leave in the morning, but somehow she remains safe now that she dreams, sheltered in the certainty of sleeping embraced in my lap. I caress her hair, which shines as if the rising sun were in its silver strands, her nails are dyed pearl white just like mine. Bicho yawns and turns over, I lightly let go of her arms. I take the acoustic guitar next to the bed, take a guitar pick from the backpack next to the capo. I place it on the chord of A minor. I look at Anastasia, now she is sleeping deeply and sailing through worlds that she only discovers in her dreams. I wish I could accompany her in each of her dreams, but watching her sleep is my personal dream. I play the guitar and the music fills the hotel room. She seems not to hear the sound coming from the guitar. I continue playing.
I will leave you in the morning
But I find you in the day
I sing and my voice no longer belongs to me, I go up and down the scales, half-close my eyes on his breathing. Bicho's eyes watch me, small and bright.
Oh... your face
Oh your face
Oh you are in my veins
And I cannot get you out
Anastasia watches me awake, naked, wrapped in sheets, now all her attention is on me. Her silence is the audience that any artist could dream of. When she finishes singing, she silently smiles at me. She looks at me with passionate sweetness and her mouth is at the same time animal and sweet.
\- That song is very beautiful - She whispers.
\- It talks about the love that runs through our veins - I explain.
\- It is beautiful, but sad at the same time. I feel like you were singing about us.
\- Maybe, but our story is not sad. Not at this moment. - I assure her.
\- And tomorrow... Will it be? – She sits up and a disturbing thought makes her take my hand.
\- Even if tomorrow our story is different, I will love you forever, you run through my veins. – Anastasia wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me tightly, her arms join pieces inside me that remain broken and are magnetized by the heat of her body pressed against mine. I leave the guitar on the bed and take her hand, small and delicate. Her skin now looks like a thin, translucent parchment, I watch as her veins shine and her scarlet blood runs through her. I place the nail with which she played the guitar in the palm of her hand.
\- I want you to keep it, it is my favorite nail. – She observes the guitar nail carefully, decorated with blue and pink scraps, then her fearful eyes search for mine.
\- Why are you giving it to me?
\- If I am ever not here, just hold it between your fingers and you will feel that I am next to you.
She looks at me with clear severity, but there is no hint of hardness in her gaze, she understands perfectly.
\- Will you take care of her for me?
\- I will, I will never lose her- she promises me. I kiss her forehead and where my skin joins her skin a silvery flash grows until it lights up her cheeks.
Oh, you are all I taste
At night inside of my mouth
When I finished singing my skin shone with a slight golden glow under the stage lights. Everything had ended faster this time. I played all the songs in the repertoire successfully. Despite the joy and the praise I wanted to play again, I felt that my star energy was still static, my body was full of adrenaline. I would like to perceive the clarity and brightness that emanates when I hold the guitar at every moment of my life. Then the world is a safe place, and I can travel to any place in my life. When making music the lamentations were intelligible as well as all the darkness that humanity holds. I wanted to play, and play, and play all night long and hear the applause again, the beautiful connections I made with people as I shined in my fullness. “If only Bicho had understood. I just wanted to connect with humanity to hide my own insecurity, the feeling of not being able to do anything.”I wanted to find meaning in nothing, to not belong anywhere and to feel that life was better with her in my arms. That was always the only reason to run from the darkness: to reach the brightness that Anastasia gave off like a star when I loved her.”
Oh, you ran away
Because I am not what you found
I couldn't sleep that night, I felt like I had trouble breathing. Immersed in the distance of sleep, I curled up hugging my body, I wanted to call Paola and know that she was safe, but the idea of contacting her was absurd. I didn't have her new number. A disturbing feeling made my heart beat faster. It was three in the morning and I couldn't sleep. I closed my eyes, my labored and agitated breathing enveloped my body. I felt like I was dying from suffocation and tachycardia. I thought about the books I never wrote, the poems that Paola would never read. I counted to 10, regulating my breathing. I tried to close my eyes but it was useless, I was short of breath that night. I opened the drawer and took out a book from the nightstand, “Rayuela” by Julio Cortázar, inside its pages there was a guitar pick. Decorated with blue and pink scraps, I closed my hand in a fist, holding it. Charlie climbed into bed and curled up next to my chest. I stroked his velvet-soft fur until he was fast asleep. I pressed the guitar pick hard and closed my eyelids, I felt Charlie’s purring cover me with calm. After a couple of minutes my breathing became regular and that’s all I remember.
Oh, you are in my veins
And I cannot get you out