Can't Let You Roam Inside My Head

I met you almost fifteen years ago in a literary workshop.

You started to read a poem. 

It was about a woman and a man having an affair. 
She was on her knees and the scene described her in a position on which she was about to give him some sort of pleasure. The man was on his feet, looking at her breasts. 

For days I couldn't get rid of your poem.

The image persisted in my mind. 

It followed me day and night.

I thought it was a poem about you and me.
I could not stop thinking about you on your knees.
I could not stop thinking about you a seconds away from giving me pleasure.

I wondered, on my darker moments, when I was so exhausted of being lonely, about to close my eyes, what kind of pleasure would you give to me.

Once we went to a party. 

It was December. A few days before my birthday. It was cold. 

It was on a big house with fancy walls made of red bricks. 

We sort of slept in a couch. 

We were drunk. Another guy from the literary workshop was in the same couch with us.
He had a crush on you. 

As I closed my eyes and I sensed you by my side, trying to get some sleep in that awkward position on the couch, I remembered your poem. 

Instead of thinking about you on your knees, the first thing that came to my mind was your breast. 

So far, I hadn't thought of them.
Dunno why I thought your boobs were a couple of tiny pears.

In the morning, as we left the house and moved to our own places, we took a bus and the subway. 

You told me that you had noticed that I could not stop watching your breast since you had read that cursed poem. You were convinced of it.

I told you it wasn't true at all. 

Days later, on my birthday, I invited you to a party.
We slipped from people and you told me that you desired me. 
We had a strange thing. 

It was sad. I felt so abusive. 

No matter what, you insisted to repeat the experience.

The second time, it happened on January.
That day we had been drinking on nasty places. 

I just dreamed about you. 
I haven't seen you for almost fifteen years. 

In my dream, we were on an academic meeting, in a round table. 
You spoke about the possibilities of your career. 
You said that a person studying Literature could get a job as an economist and crazy non sense things. 

Then we took a bus. 

It seemed Ciudad Universitaria. 

I felt so sexually attracted to you. 

You wore a black and white turtle neck stripped sweater. 
It made your breasts looked so clear. They seemed a small pair of shy fruits.

You were by the exit door of the bus, about to walk out. I was by your side and we said good bye and we were about to do it kissing our cheeks. 

We accidentally kissed in the mouth. 

Your lips felted like velvetine. 

It excited me. 

I felt guity. 

In my dream, I had a girlfriend and she was on the bus, too. Obviously, I didn't want that she notice that we had just an accidental kiss. 

I felt guilty and excited at the same time.

You smiled and I couldn't stop thinking about your breast. 

Why did I dream of you?

Sometimes, dreams are so meaningless. 

Sometimes, they're not. 

La La Love You

I will always think of you be associated In my dream, we were about to have our bachelor's degree examination and so we were practicing in front of a class.

The classroom was one in which we actually did it, almost fifteen years ago.

It was located in the third floor of the main building of the school. 

Instead of having a visually impactating presentation, as we really did it, we got some sort of poster. 

Some pupils helped you out to hang the poster on a wall. As you did so, I felt nervous. It seemed none of you was aware of the importance of that poster and then it looked like you would break it anytime. 

Then the professor who was giving us time of his class, asked us to start rehearsing.

Before his petition, you really seemed so selfconfident and you even behave as if I were an invisible meaningless moron. 

I decided to ask you to go along by yourself and you started to hesitate.

I wonder if you saw the real video of our bachelor's degree examination and if you, finally, came up to the conclusion that I was the one who spoke the most complicated issues of the thesis. 

She Screams In Silence

I was having dinner with my wife.
We we're around a table in a quiet and dark room.
It was cozy and painted in red and green.
The table had a stripped tablecloth on it.

(In some ways, it looked like the previous apparment on which we lived for five years.)

Somehow I knew that we were expecting you.

Suddenly, someone put the key in the door lock, made it spin and then opened the doorway.
It was you. You dressed exactly as the last time I saw you.

Somehow, you looked lighter than that last time.

You looked at us and walked to the table.
You said Hi and smiled to us.

Somehow you looked shy and insecure.

For a moment, we saw each other, face to face.
I wanted to be nice, but I was unable to smile.

I continued talking to my wife, but feeling terribly guilt.

You sat beside me in the table and said something nice about a picture of a cat that was hanging on the wall.

You said something like Cats are awesome.

I sensed you weren't comfortable at all.
All you wanted to do was to be nice with us.

It seemed that you were about to live with us.

In a way, it really excited me.
The chances to get along with you were so exciting.
But it also scared me.

I was afraid to falling in love with you.

At the time I had these thoughts, I secretly saw you.

You looked so fragile and pretty. 

Yesterday, I was thinking all day long to give you a call and say Hi.
I didn't. I'm not sure if I will.