Gone

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What happens with the words you tell somebody in the realm of a love relationship? When you tell them they are meant for that person only. No one else. Those words have a life only if the other person receives them, opens them and cherishes them. It’s a box with just one keyholder and meant to be exclusive.

Where are the words I made? Where did they go? I wonder if they vanished, or maybe they just were sucked into some black hole of antimatter spread randomly by you or me.

But I mostly wonder about the words you wrote to me. The sounds you made for me. The moments you built for me.

Where are they now?

You must forgotten that you ever uttered them. And if you ever remember about it you will like to think it doesn’t hurt me. After all, I will always be in a good mood. You will take for granted that I am there.

Until I am not.

Gone.

Then, maybe the words come back.

Then again, probably they will never be found. Lost in the oceans of time that we once crossed.

Más allá del asalto número 12

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El cuadrilátero se hace más y más grande para el adversario, la superficie toda a su favor. Los rincones ya no me pueden acomodar cuando me repliego sobre ellos para intentar soportar los embistes que una y otra vez me golpean los costados.

Una y otra vez. Otra vez y de nuevo vuelta a empezar.

Para mí, las cuerdas a los lados del ring ya son como tentáculos de un monstruo que se avalanza más y más sobre mí con el fín de desgarrarme uno a uno cada uno de mis miembros mientras suena la melodía para el vencedor. El suelo se hace pendiente, el aire es un placer de cuya lujosa presencia yo no puedo contar.

Los golpes se acumulan y yo sólo tapo mi cara para no recibir en el centro de mi mirada. Es ahí donde más duelen, allí donde el ego, el corazón y mi propia alma se juntan en uno para de una vez quebrar las idílicas imágenes de un pasado que quizá no existió. Y si lo hizo ya da igual, porque no lo puedo sentir.

Parece como sí con cada uno de los golpes que estoy recibiendo quiera alejar con una brazada los sentimientos que experimenté en la otra orilla. Aguas templadas que ya casi no puedo vislumbrar. A veces no siento nada, y me he aclimatado al vaivén de un golpe sordo encontrando músculos endureciéndose por el paso de las noches sin días. Otras veces el adversario me da de lleno, acierta en su diabólica sarta de derechazos, las costillas se hacen astillas y perforan un poco más el dolor hacia adentro.

Parece que nunca lo suficiente

En este combate yo no tengo nada que ganar y todo por perder. El rival es más grande, más fuerte y mucho más rápido que yo. Además parece que en los últimos tiempos también ha añadido a su repertorio la habilidad de hacerme creer que yo tengo algún control sobre la situación. Me conoce, se burla, baila conmigo en este ring que se cierra como mí como la boca de un carnívoro animal que clama a su presa tras largo tiempo de hambruna.

Cuando el combate empezó, todo el mundo pensaba que el púgil más débil se negaría a participar. No tenía sentido. No había nada que demostrar, era una pelea en la que nadie saldría ganando, especialmente yo. Una pelea que nunca podría ganar, una pelea en la que no había nada por ganar.

Y yo ya sé que no hay nada por ganar, nadie a quien convencer. No hay premio al otro lado de los doce asaltos.

Una vez pasados un par de asaltos, lo lógico era tirar la toalla. No hay entrenador que me defienda, que me aconseje uno u otro movimiento. Nadie puede hacer nada por mí. Alguien debería haber parado esto, pero la realidad es que tampoco hay mucho público. La gente entra y sale. Algunos se aburren por el espectáculo bochornoso. La superioridad es aplastante.

Y aquí sigo yo, resistiendo cada uno de los golpes que recibo. Ocultando mis notables deficiencias con la violencia de un adversario que no tiene piedad.

Espero, crezco con cada uno de esos golpes. No espero nada, no merezco nada. Sólo quiero ser más fuerte que este ring, que ese rival. Quiero estar por encima de toda esta mierda que me rodea. No pertenezco a ningún cuadrilátero, mi cuerpo no está aquí.

No me toca, no me alcanza tan dentro como para que me rompa para siempre.

Al final, mi rival se cansará y mi crecimiento se habrá completado. Entonces, en el último asalto y cuando todo parezca haber acabado, despertaré aquí y allí. Con mis puños y con mi alma.

Volando por encima de las reglas y la muerte. Mi sangre correrá por encima de todo y me hará invencible

La noche de las sombras desvanecidas

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Tenía una cara completamente normal. Tan normal que pasaba completamente desapercibido. Sus amigos siempre le decían que no se preocupara, que nunca tendría problema para encontrar a una persona que le hiciera sentir especial, amado. Lo cierto es que ni ellos mismos podían creer ni una palabra de lo que estaba saliendo entre un espasmo y otro de sus cuerdas vocales de uno y de otro. Dentro de sí sabían que el chico padecería de esta aparente carencia durante el resto de su vida.

A veces, cuando ya había perdido toda la esperanza, aparecía una desconocida que le diría cosas al oído en medio de la noche. Entre sus brazos encontraría el gozo momentáneo de aquello que sólo le estaba permitido a los otros. Horas más tarde se quedaba a solas con su soledad, en el espacio infinito de la oscuridad siempre presente en su interior.

Una noche decidió que ya había tenido suficiente. Pensó que si el fin de su vida era el de pasar inadvertido entonces debía hacerlo a lo grande, sin miedo a mirar atrás. Debía dejar de ser visto en su totalidad, para de algún modo tornar su debilidad en su fortaleza y servirse de ella.

Existe una leyenda en Cracovia que si miras al reflejo de la luna llena en la superficie del río Vístula durante siete minutos sin pestañear tu cuerpo se fundirá con el reflejo proyectado por la luna. Nuestro protagonista dedicó muchas noches de luna llena a intentar lograr su objetivo, pero algo siempre impedía lograrlo. Al principio se le hacía imposible mantener los ojos abiertos. Otras veces, cuando llevaba largo tiempo de contemplación, una nube se cruzaba ante la señora de la noche y tenía que volver a empezar. En otras noches, simplemente alguien pasaba y le importunaba…hasta que por fín pasó lo que tenía que pasar y de la manera más imprevista.

Era la noche de un gran partido de fútbol y el chico se encontraba en pleno experimento cuando dos pandillas de clubes enemigos se encontraron a unos metros de él. La violencia entre ambos empezó a crecer y se intercambiaron los golpes entre unos y otros. Él continuó inmóvil con sus ojos abiertos sobre el reflejo de una luna enorme y bella en su cruel y apacible contorno. Uno de los grupos empezó a imponerse al resto, hasta el punto de que sólo quedaba uno de aquellos de rayas en pié,y viendo que estaba en clara minoría salió corriendo en dirección a nuestro protagonista, que se encontraba en plena oscuridad al lado del río. Cuando los fans del otro club llegaron lo confundieron con el hooligan y empezaron a golpearle hasta matarlo. Cuando hubieron terminado de golpearlo, lo tiraron al río, con su cara ensangrentada fundiéndose con el reflejo de la luna que se sumergía en la negra y turbia agua del río.

Cuentan que desde aquella noche, cuando la luna se presenta plena de luz y poder sobre las aguas del río Vístula aparece en la orilla de Podgorze una sombra que se para en su orilla a contemplar el reflejo del astro en el líquido espejo. Dicen también que siete minutos más tarde la sombra se desvanece atraída por la imagen en el río.

Una y otra vez, huyendo de sí misma y fundiéndose con la guardiana de la noche.

Release

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In the beginning of the end, no one had really noticed. It had all happened on a Friday night, and Samuel used to ignore phone calls and messages when he decided he needed to spend some time on his own. Thus, nobody suspected that he had decided to spend time with himself for good and forever. 

When Monday arrived people were starting to worry though. He didn´t show up, didn´t return any phone calls from the bosses and colleagues. Some of them wondered if Samuel was sick with the flu or if he had again changed his telephone number. His students were assigned to other teachers for another couple of days, but the tension was increasing. 

Some of his friends had started contacting each other with the hope of knowing what was going on with Samuel. Was he gone? Finally one of his friends entered the building he had never been in. The porter said he hadn´t been seen in some days and that the barking from Sam´s dogs had been disturbing the neighbours lately. He was hoping to see him or some of his friends in order to know what could be happening.The owner of the flat hadn´t received the payment of the rent and was contacting the porter and neighbours as well. 

They decided to wait for some hours, but soon after the neighbours next door started complaining about the smell coming from the apartment. Soon after they called the police and forced their way inside.

They found him in bed surrounded by his dogs. He was hugging his pillow, trying to grasp the last breathe into this world as he had left his agony of life days ago.

Alone, in his self made coffin he laid. The mix of narcotics displayed on the top table, the music from his laptop still on, having left a week long playlist to be shuffled forever. The melody for his last journey in this world.

Dead at last. Finally free.

Still human

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– Una botella de tu sangre por favor

– Enseguida, señor. ¿Cómo la quiere: fresca, del tiempo o caliente?

Del tiempo, gracias

La chica descubrío su brazo y suavemente deslizó la cuchilla por su muñeca. Me dejó probar la primera sangre que salió de ella como estaba establecido en el cánon de los buenos restaurantes. Le dije que estaba muy bien, pero que le faltaba un poco de aroma. Tras esto me pidió por favor que la acompañara a la habitación reservada a las reclamaciones de los clientes. En ella se atendía a las peticiones más comunes: falta de punto de hedonismo, sobrecarga de artificialidad y falsedad así como otras deficiencias comunes en el servicio.

En mi caso no se trataba de ninguna falta en el producto. En realidad, quería probar si mi camarera en realidad estaba hecha de material humano o si era uno más de aquellos humanoides que poblaban nuestro país en el año 2045.

Las personas, se pensaba, habían desaparecido dejando paso a una serie de entes con un físico muy embellecido pero que adolecía de los principios básicos que se les supone a los seres humanos: es decir, egoísmo, capacidad para la egolatría y un gusto exquisito por los placeres individuales. Todo el mundo sabía a estas alturas que esas eran las virtudes básicas de cualquier ser humano que se prestara.

Por eso los habíamos amado tanto y los amábamos todavía.

Corría la tendencia de pensar que ya no existía buen producto en la ciudad ni en ninguna otra parte en el continente. Que de tanto beber de ellos, usarlos a nuestro antojo, violarlos y gozar de sus cuerpos hasta el extremo, habían terminado por exterminarse.

Aquella noche yo quería comprobar si, en aquel restaurante de cinco estrellas de la ciudad francesa de Nancy, todavía existía un ejemplar cuya piel fuera natural, su flujo proveniente de un corazón corrupto en vicio y si su sexo seguiría latiendo por la presencia de uno de los míos.

Se quitó la ropa sin dejar de mirarme a los ojos. Se despojó de todos los prejuicios cuando abrí mi boca a los placeres de su carne palpitante y deposité toda mi hambre en sus venas henchidas del dolor de la existencia. Bebí más y más, gozando de mi naturaleza como no lo había hecho en mucho tiempo.

Aquella mujer era verdaderamente humana.

Vertí mi lascivia en ella varias veces aquella noche y deposité mi gratitud en aquella buena gente que dirigía aquel restaurante. Ya no quedaban sitios como aquel.

Me dije que volvería más a menudo a aquel sitio donde todavía trataban bien a los clientes que, como yo, seguían gozando de los placeres más profundos y recónditos de la casi extinta y peculiar especie humana. Un especie cuyos delirios de grandeza y sus ilusiones de poder dotaban de un sabor y aroma completamente único a la sangre que se derrababa por las gargantas de todos nosotros.

Kraków road into the Abyss

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Back at the end of the suburbs in the Polish town of Kraków there are still some very decadent houses scattered on the valley that takes you all the way down to the feet of the Tatra mountains. The people from the city are deeply enamoured of the atmosphere and landscapes of the extreme wings of the Carpathian lands, and every time there is some free holiday or just a space for a short trip, they climb on their snowy tops to become one with nature.

The natives also know that many legends dwell in those mountains. Everyone has heard of the famous wind that shifts moods and make people uneasy, to the point where some unstable people may lose their mental balance on one side of the other. The halny wind and its effects on people is just one of the multiple legends and particular cases that build the legend of the legendary curves of the mountains. But once you leave the Tatra and enter the regions surrounding the city of Kraków in the Małopolska region the influence of the high tops and foggy legends is supposed to leave you completely.

People may openly laugh at you if you mention that you suffer from this or that effect of the mountains in Kraków. Therefore, what I am about to explain would be quite possible taken with a huge grain of salt by the citizens of this town.

Read it as you want. Doubt me as you please. But remember, I have no desire to fool anybody after what I have witnessed with my own eyes.

It was on Valentine´s day that I decided to do something different. As you may know by now I am not particularly fond of this festivity lately. Let´s say I just wanted to disappear from the face of the earth in the interval between the 14th and the 15th of that month. It marked my sixth anniversary since my first visit to this town and for the first time I was about to spend it on my own. Literally, alone.

I took the first bus I saw from work and stopped where the bus line ends. It was a rainy evening and of course I forgot to bring my umbrella or adequate shoes for rain. I couldn´t care less, the tougher the conditions were, the better I would feel as I needed to distract my brain from melancholy thoughts. I just wanted to be outside of the town that welcomed me with love and promises of a beautiful life.

I just wanted to be out. Even it is was a matter of a simple step out of the town. I was very close from getting my goal when I saw a place where I could sit safe from the rain and from every occasional person that could stroll in the area. I opened my little bottle of wiśniówka vodka and took a long sip. I figured I would buy a new one on my return to Kraków to get a less painful sleep. As I was repeating the up and down movement of my arm my eyes got distracted by the landscape beyond where I was sitting. The street had merely four or five more big houses and then there was nothing beyond the signal of end of town on the right side. It was the darkness at that point me that called me deep into it as I continued walking some minutes on that direction. I was finally out of town, comforted by this and by the taste of vodka in my mouth. The only light came from the random calls I was getting on my phone that was in silence mode. I remember thinking I should have left it at home since I wasn´t going to talk to anybody about what I was going to do anyway.

The rain started to pour harder on me on the next minutes forcing me to look for somewhere to shelter me while the storm passed. At first I thought I would be forced to return to the town since there was absolutely nothing at sight. And then, right after the lightning struck I could glimpse a house on the left side of the narrow road. It was obviously abandoned for long time, no light inside and the latest signs from life in it must have been the rests of the adventures of some teenagers the previous afternoon: empty beer cans, some cigarette butts spread around and the smell of youth gone drifting through the old walls. The house must have belonged to a family long time ago, since there were still some furnitures inside it. The door had been completely removed from its joints, so the state of those chairs and sofas was half eaten by rats, youngsters and other animals of their kind.

You may be wondering how I ventured into an empty dark house in a stormy evening as the one I was enjoying that day. Wasn´t I scared? Wasn´t I fearing anybody would tell me to get the fuck out of there?

Spierdalaj, Hiszpan! Co tu ty robisz?

Nothing of that happened, as I was half drunk by sadness and vodka already. I am a very emotional person, and that combined with my lack of ability to stand the values and qualities of the Polish liquor I didn´t quite fully comprehend the nature of my actions.

Yet, I went on and on with what I was supposed to be doing down there. Now, if I tell you I had brought some black candles from my house,would you believe me? Yes, sir. I wanted to recreate some dark moment in such circumstances. I lit up some candles over one of the tables in that room. It allowed me to see more clearly the details of the place I was going to spend some time for my solo party. The place had three tables, two chairs and one sofa close to the tables.

The walls around the decaying furniture were covered with graffiti. At first, nothing shocking: football hooligans from the two main clubs making a competition on who is the most brute of them. A classic. But there was something else behind the table where I had lit up the candles. It was like a diagram that reminded me of the pentagrams I used to study. I have always experimented a lot of pleasure digging into the occult and that symbol on the wall got my full attraction.

Relinque te profundum inferni

I couldn´t be more excited about this. I know it may sound crazy, but it was all I was looking for: a place where to dump all my previous excitements of Valentine´s days, my melancholic thoughts, my depression, my sadness. This environment was ideal for my purposes. I opened some books and started to read aloud some lines from my favourite books and writers. I wanted to be there with my dark side on full display. I got some more vodka in my system and I smoked something more than what you find in the regular shop.

I was high on the dark. Knee deep into my own blackness.

Suddenly, when everything was just about perfect, I realised I wasn´t the only one enjoying the moment in that house. There was someone right behind me. I could hear the way someone breathed, the sighs and the smell of someone as rotten inside as me. I looked in the direction that my senses told me to do and there was nothing or no one there. But I knew there was somebody else in there and I desperately wanted to see who it was so I could know what to expect.

It was then that I started to feel nervous and scared. Not before. Just then, at that precise moment.

The fact that I couldn´t picture what was there makes you more scared. The fact that this thing is touching you and talking to you can drive you insane. This creature that I couldn´t see – I wouldn´t dare to say it was invisible since my own abilities were somehow diminished by the ingestion of heavy doses of alcohol and narcotics started to talk to me:

Wiem co czujesz. Wiem czego pragniesz. Ja moge ci dac.Tylko mów i będe dla ciebie. Chcesz śmierć? Jestem śmierć.

The words and the message was clear to me. That person knew who I was and what I wanted. It spoke to me for some minutes while I weighed on my life experiences.

I don’t know how or when but the last thing I remember is feeling the thing’s hands covering my eyes before I fell asleep.

The next morning I was back in my bed, inside my own flat in Kraków. How I arrived there I cannot know. All I know is that I was sure that the events of the previous night had been real. If I told anyone they would take me as a madman. Nobody would believe a single word of what I would say.

As I got ready to start work the following day I received a call from the porter downstairs. There was a package waiting for me in the hall of my building. I got dressed with the first clothes I found around and I took the lift downstairs to check what it was.

The package was completely painted in black and it was extremely heavy. The porter asked me if I needed help to take it to my flat but I refused any help since it was a surprisingly small object that I had between my hands. I needed to put it several times on the floor in and out of the lift in order to finally take it to my flat.

When I finally succeeded in setting it on full display on my table I couldn´t believe it had taken me so long to be carried. It was a square pack, about 5 cm in each direction and measure. I opened it very easily though.

I couldn´t believe that such a heavy package only contained a single piece of paper in its interior. The rest was black and the note was a stripe of paper cut accidentally and in a hurry. On it the following words were written:

Live or die, love or hate. No matter. You will bleed for me in the end. Just as everyone else. The only way to be free is to discover the way to deal with your life in the meantime. 

You will be mine unless you are yours.

Aside

Emptying my voids

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I had often wondered what it really happens when we close our eyes at night. You close yourself from this world and open yourself to a new dimension in which the limits and boundaries of ego, society and ethics are much less defined. We let ourselves go and set free by the lack of wires, strings of collective consciousness in a sort of dream. Sleep is our narcotic and we manifest a clear addiction and submission to it.

All my life this state of mind has sedated the rest of my senses. I lived to experience the dreams and freedom that my mind experimented during my sleep. I have never really spent much time dwelling into what happens to people in the real world. To me, everything was a routine that left no impression in me: take care of your body, work, move around the city, and eventually get some company. Nothing that made my senses awake at that moment in the day.

Until now

I dreamt that I was someone very important in a distant land where the forests were purple and the people only wore green. All the women had light brown eyes, all of them had auburn hair, long and wavy. The wore nothing on their backs, and they were all barefoot. The men followed them to every corner of the cream like streets, filled with sunlight from every side. In that dream I spoke and people actually were very interested in what I said. Some of them looked brighter and happier when I said some words in particular. Some other undressed and caressed each other while I told them of some other worlds different to that one. In the end they bathed me and I smiled.

When I woke up I went directly to the window, as I systematically did every day. Just to check if I was awake or not. I would scan the building on the other side, proudly standing with their cracks on their square eyes, their curtains opening to a new day that would witness the same old events from the previous day. The streets down would be divided by the scratches of the cars on the asphalt that covered every single square of the city. The smoke from the cars would meet the smog in the sky and would fragment the future in the hands of someone´s fate.

But today there was something different. I could see that something was missing in me but I didn´t know what it was. There was a clear physical void, not a mental one as I usually had. I went into the bathroom and scanned the surface of my naked body. Everything seemed to be in its normal place. My arms were hanging one on the left side, the other on the right one. Two legs, yes. My genitals hadn´t been swallowed by the blankets, no. The image in the mirror showed a face that had two yes, nose, ears, mouth…everything was normal and yet, something was not right.

I thought there was something missing where I couldn´t see, deep within my body. I called the doctor and set up for a meeting in the afternoon.

– Reason of the appointment? Are you feeling unwell, Mr Nowak?

– A standard checkup, if possible Mr Kowalski. I hope you have some time to see me

I fully hoped the doctor would actually see something I couldn´t. I knew he would find out what was missing inside me. The doctor went into a more than standard checkup, both intrigued and shocked by my insistence that something was wrong when every clear symptom seemed to tell him everything was just fine. He ordered some tests, scans and other procedures just because I had been his patient for more than five years. He felt in debt somehow, even though the social security didn´t pay him close to what he should have got paid to see such a weirdo for all this time.

A week later, when the results came in, the doctor repeated the same tune he had sung to my ears the previous week:

– You seem perfectly healthy, Mr Nowak. All is good, organs are well placed, all in order. Do not fear any trouble.

Continue with your life

If only things had been in order I would have been able to again dedicate all my energy and excitement in the fulfilling actions of dreaming night after night, discovering new worlds beyond the realms of this futile reality. But it turned out something was changing inside me even though the doctors were telling me the opposite.

Morning after morning something else was missing. I didn´t know its name or its placement. I just knew a piece of me was gone. My weekly visit to the doctors resulted in exasperation from their side, until they finally recommended me to visit another kind of people who would treat something that would be happening in my brain. That I needed counselling, someone who would listen to me and guide me to the right path.

None of that gave the answers for the problems I was experiencing. For in fact it was all disturbing me greatly since I was leaving aside my desire to let myself go in my sleep. I was shifting my mind to what was missing in me. Everyday something different, a new void, a new hollow presence or a new full absence as you wish to name it.

My hours of sleep started decreasing in an alarming rate. I used to sleep a minimum of 9 hours at my best moments, 10 being the perfect amount of hours in order to locate and explore the different corners in my night journeys. In the last weeks, I would be happy to find 3 or 4 hours of sleep which made very unlikely to fully build a whole dream, let alone more than one.

Instead I was spending time reflecting about what I didn´t have, about that little something that wasn´t there any more with me. SInce I couldn´t locate it precisely I started to try to define it with better tools than simple words. I decided every hole, every dark spot in my puzzle would have its drawing. I never really had any talent to paint, but the feeling was too intense to resist: I studied some techniques and even had some teacher come to my house twice per week to teach me the best ways to portray what I wanted to express in a different way. Everyday I would get up, feel the part of me that had vanished and paint precisely what i felt on a canvas. Soon, the living room was completely covered in my drawings, walls and ceiling, clockwise placed.

One morning, while I painted my new reality on the white canvas I realised all the paintings have a common point. It seemed one would capture one element of the previous drawing and would take it into the formula of the next one. It all resulted as a whole as if the ink would trace its run into the surface of the paintings as a river of thoughts that had a continuity.

It was as if each void was connected in my drawings to the rest of the voids. A full line of emptiness that had found a way to be a whole void in its total.

When I realised that I made my doctor come to the flat to see it. I was so excited that day that I wasn´t able to sleep at all for the first time in my life. I wanted people to see that all those voids were unique, that they existed…or more precisely, that they had ceased to exist inside me and had left me to live in those amazing murals on the walls of my flat.

When the doctor came, he didn´t do it alone. He came with some other doctors, all with eyes too wide, every single one of them clad in white, their mouths covered by masks also white. They grabbed me and took me to another white place where they opened me once and again. They injected me with so much white liquid that I would swear my blood must have turned that color.

The diagnose was clear according to them: a had a very rare sickness that only affected one individual in a thousand million. The tissue that covered my organs was degrading and all the limits between them had been erased. By means of that virus that had entered my body – it is unclear when, how or even why – the organs had been able to somehow continue working normally even though they were touching each other, they suspended inside me and gave an impression of normality when in fact the normal case would have been the whole body being collapsed by the blood, the weight of the chaos crashing it all inside. Somehow, I has still alive.

What the doctors feared the most – and also their object of main study – was my brain and the way my neuronal activity was being developed. According to them, my words were senseless, but my drawing was something that no one had ever seen before. Experts came to study them and even the television made a prime time documentary about those mysterious signs on that wall.

Soon, the doctors started leaving this room, one by one. They left me here alone. They forgot I existed.

I also did.

Now I am also gone.

Gone with my voids. Fully empty.

Fully gone.

Aside

A la merced de tus siete minutos de seducción

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Al principio sólo existieron sus ojos, inmensos círculos de completa oscuridad absorbiéndome por completo. Como agujeros negros. Me gustaría decir que el sentimiento fue recíproco, pero me contenté con todo lo que ella me dio aquella fría mañana de marzo. Pronto me di cuenta de que en realidad ella me fue seduciendo progresivamente y sin costarle el mayor esfuerzo. Disfrutó con cada instante en el que yo no podía mirar a otro lado, en el que mis movimientos dependían exclusivamente de lo que ella gustase.

Y por supuesto yo no opuse ni la menor resistencia.

Quiero dejar claro una cosa aquí mismo y ahora: estoy seguro de que para ella no fui nada. Estoy convencido de que dos horas después de lo que sucedido yo soy el único que sigo maravillado por el influjo que tuvo esta mujer en el breve tiempo que respiramos en la misma burbuja existencial. Una vez estalló la burbuja ella ya me ha debido olvidar.

Queda la esperanza de que la próxima vez que nos crucemos recuerde todo el deseo que provocó en cada célula de mi cuerpo.

Porque eso es lo que sucedió. A falta de dos paradas para un destino que nos iba a separar en la misma parada de autobús ella se dirigió hacia mí. Podía haber escogido cualquier lugar en aquel autobús para esperar a salir pero por algún motivo se situó delante de mí.

Me gustaría pensar que mi hambre la atrajo, que mi deseo la trajo más cerca de mi tormenta interior. Yo quería más de ella y ella me lo dio.

Me ofreció su espalda a una distancia menor de la prudencial pero no fue hasta minutos más tarde que pude ver que ella estaba más cerca de lo que yo había pensado en un principio. La causa de esta torpeza geográfica fue su aroma intenso y suave que parecía emanar de la base de su cabello y que recorría el nacimiento de su espalda.

Aunque estábamos en paralelo, ella dejó un ángulo cercano y lo suficientemente visible para que yo pudiera observar de manera clara la sensualidad de su rostro, la carnal atracción de sus labios llenos de lo femenino. Recorrí la longitud de sus brazos con mi mirada hasta sus manos, con las que agarraba firmemente aquella barra que nos separaba. Me la imaginé intentando coger todo el placer y el deseo que estaba circulando en aquel extremo caliente de mi entrepierna. No pude evitar pensar en lo que podríamos hacer ella y yo con todo esa energía que circulaba dentro de mí y que yo esperaba que despertara también una borrasca íntima similar a la que yo estaba experimentando.

Si ella me hubiera mirado directamente a los ojos en aquella posición no sé si habría podido contener mis brazos o impedir que mi boca se abriera para articular algo con mi lengua…alguna palabra o algún beso que me hubiera permitido entrar más profundamente en el seno de aquella preciosa criatura que me estaba embriagando más y más.

Con cada giro del autobús, la curva trazada se acompasaba con la contemplación de cada una de sus formas a cada cual más poderosamente bella. Yo trataba de morder la distancia en cada una de aquellos vaivenes que hacían menguar el espacio y dilatar el paso de la sangre en los capilares de mi piel y en el interior de mi ser.

Habría hecho cualquier cosa por haber escuchado su voz o por haber podido ser tocado por aquella diosa de cabello liso, aroma diabólicamente embrujador y esa piel tan suave y blanca que prometía no tener fin. Me habría perdido en cada uno de sus rincones y habría depositado allí el resto de la vida que me queda por vivir.

Ahora, aquí sentado en mi escritorio sólo me queda darte las gracias. Musa que pasaste y te fuiste. Musa que me regaló unos minutos de magia y de pura sensualidad.