One night in Oaxaca

In Oaxaca in the night of my birthday, I got dressed up. I had flowers on my dress and real flowers in my hair. He took me out to a nice restaurant. I had pasta, and the brought a slice of cake for me. 

We drove into the city. The mountains dark and  beautiful. Mysterious shadows rising all around a tiny glittering city in the distance. 

There were still parades and skull decorations even on my birthday, how great is that? Although everyone was visibly tired of the party. It was the last day of a party that started a month ago. 

I am happy to be here, to see these things. I am happy but I am distant. Here is my favorite memory of my birthday: On the drive home he sings to me: ‘think of me, talk of me, don’t cry for him. Don’t cry for him’

I was only in the next room. But he wanted me as if was in another country. He kept distance from me, stayed silent and far, hoping it would convince me. He looked at me, waiting for me to look at him. Unable to turn away. And me, unable to turn away from whatever I was waiting for.

In Nicaragua we took a ferry to ometepe island. We never spoke of how we felt then, it was early for us. We kissed for a long time, from the land to the island. A love that was neither here nor there. That only existed in motion

That’s how I remember him, not as a man, but as peripheral vision. Someone decorating my memories while I remembered something else. Something bittersweet that transforms itself by remembering, yet nothing will ever change, because the past is never the past. All we talk about is whatever is happening right now. What will always be.