Whisper Secrets For Me

We spoke on the phone, two days ago. 

Though I pretended to pointed out that it was exclusively an academic call, honestly I just wanted to hear your voice. 

I wanted to tell you that I care about you, but I didn't. 
I am not sure if you would find it awkward. I understand that you don't care about it. I understand that you don't want to know a single thing about the world. 

You told me that you were carrying out a procedure for your daughter to obtain your husband's pension, and that it was so damn difficult. I didn't know what to say. I just remembered when I first met your husband and when I first saw your daughter. It was scary and I stopped thinking about it. I just can't imagine how painful is it to be you. 

I couldn't survive if I were in your situation. I wouldn't be able to handle such a situation. It would kill me, if my wife was dead. 

I would have liked to tell you that I really care about you, but, as usual, I felt somehow rejected, and, as the conversation progressed, I became nervous and I started to think which words I wanted to say to you and I became the very same idiot guy I have always been when I try to speak with you. 

It's a sickening personality complex. I suppose my interest in us to be friends makes me act like that. It reminds me of a friend I used to have when I was eighteen years old. It was a weird relationship. She was older than me and she really behaved like an older person. Her personality attracted me so wildly. I met her in one of my first classes at the university. I started to idealize her and I spoke to her after school.

She was so nice and we talked about The Beatles and about literature. She obviously had read many more authors than me. She had an interesting and funny conversation. 
She was pretty smart and she was a professional dancer. She had health issues. She was anemic and depressive. Her dad died when she was a girl. Her life was such a mistery for me.

We started to talk on the telephone. We talked and talked by entire nights. We had fun. We had a weird relationship. Eventually, we became more than friends, or so we tried. It started on the phone. On the previous days –we used to spoke twice per week–, I told her that I liked her so much, that she was so perfect and that I wanted to see her. At the time, she had another friend. He was older than us and, apparently, he was a professional dancer, too. He was a mature man. I was just a teenager. 

She was thinking about us for an entire weekend and then she called me and she told me that she also wanted to have a sentimental relationship with me. I was so damn happy. I guess I hadn't been as happy as I was then, before. Lily was all I ever wanted and I just couldn't believe that she was “more than a friend”. 

The relationship was a disaster. Each time I saw her, it was a stressful situation for me. I was so nervous, I wanted so bad to not make mistakes that I just became a stupid guy. 
It was so repetitive that she generally got mad and angst and dissapointed and exhausted. Once she even told me that she preferred to talk on the telephone rather than to see me.

I was so naive and silly. 

Then she moved to another city and I started to write letters to her.
I wrote her endlessly –I wonder what kind of nonsense things did I write her, and I suppose I would be ashamed of them– and she wrote me back. 

The last time I saw her, she thought she was pregnant and I was brokenhearted. She was in love with an Argentine artist and I was dealing with the fact that my ex-girlfriend –the longer relationship I had back then– just had married. 

(And, right now, as I remember those days and as I write this post, I feel I'm some sort of Marcel Proust copycat, writing a letter for you.) 

I still remember when we first met. 

I saw you in a small dinning room. I still remember the way you smiled. 
You seemed so shy and clever. I wanted to know you, but I was so shy to tell you. 

Each time I think about it, I wonder why didn't we meet long before. 
It would have been awesome. I am sure that, right now, everything would be different for both of us.   

Though we worked together for four years, only on the last days we shared an office –almost two years ago–, we started to have normal conversations. I really enjoyed. You seemed a human, after all. Maybe you thought I seemed a human after all, too. I sensed that you also enjoyed our brief conversations. We started to talk about nonsense issues. We started to act as normal people. Then I moved to another city. (Ironic, isn't it?) 

I wonder if someday we could just talk on the telephone as normal people.

Whisper Secrets For Me

Soulmates Never Die

In my dream, we were in the backseat of a bus.
We were side by side, so close together. 
The sun's rays illuminated your face. 
I could see your eyes as I had never seen them.

I realized that you had one small and fake eye.
(Now, I analyze why it happened and it makes me realize that a few nights earlier I saw The Big Short and that perhaps your small and fake eye was a subliminal residue of the character performed by Christian Bale. 
Isn't it funny?) 

Also, for the very first time, I realized the color of your eyes.
It surprised me and I couldn't stop thinking of your brownish eyes. 

You talked with a great enthusiasm, though your face reflected sadness. 
As you talked, I began to remember when we met.
I also began to remember how much I liked you and how many times did I dream of kiss you and get laid with you. It also made me think how many times did I try to avoid becoming a moron and hurt you. I was so afraid of being a dumbass and break your heart. 

We used to hang out between classes.
You were so pretty and fragile and you used to complain about men.
I heard every single word you said and I started to fall in love with you. 

At a moment, I began to write you letters and you began to respond them.
It was a really funny communication. It seemed that you wanted me to be more than a friend. I was really attracted to you. I couldn't stop thinking about your beauty. 
Your body was sexually attractive. It made me desire you. I wanted to touch you.

Once, as we spoke about Marcel Proust before a boring class, I couldn't ignore your breasts. It seemed that you were sort of cold, though we we're taking a sunbath on the grass of the backyard of the school. I accidentally saw your nipples and they drove me wild. 

For entire nights I closed my eyelids, just before I fall asleep, trying to recreate that beautiful image. It made me feel like a teenager discovering his own sexuality. I had innocent thoughts in which I could see them endlessly as I told you how pretty you were and how much I liked you and how much I desired you and how much I wanted to take care of you.

Once I told you –or wrote you on a letter, or both– how much I liked you and you blushed and you kept quiet. Then you said that you didn't want to suffer. 

You began to call me on the telephone.
Each day, it seemed so obvious that you were more and more interested on me. 
Though each day I liked you more than the previous day, I was so stupid and so afraid to hurt you that I just didn't dare to ask you if you wanted to be my girlfriend. 

I met another woman, I made her my girlfriend and we stopped talking. 
At the end, I hurt you and I felt so stupid. My girlfriend was so jealous about you. 
I'm not sure, but I guess she gave you a nickname related to your big breasts. 
She said, contemptuously, that you had huge breasts. 
It seemed that you didn't like her neither. When we had a few minutes to speak between classes, you referred to her as the monkey-girl. You said she seemed so mad and that she gave you violent and hostile looks, each time you crossed on the hallways of the school.

Years later, you called me on the telephone. 
By then, the monkey-girl was happily married (to another guy) and I felt sad, betrayed and lonely.
Somehow, I sensed thru your voice that you felt the same way I felt. 
I sensed that we were like soulmates. We met on a coffee shop. 

When we saw each other, after a long time, in the parking lot of that coffee shop, you gave me a very effusive hug. I felt your huge breasts upon on me and I felt so excited. Then you kissed me on the cheek. It was also so effusive. 
The entire scene was so intense that a moron passing by told us something like "Get a room!" and you, ironically, yelled him "Do you want me to kiss you, too?" 

Inside the coffee shop you sat in front of me.
At a time, as I told you how I felt and how happy I was of being with you and how beautiful you looked and how much did I miss you, you held my hand over the table. It felt so electrical. Then you smiled and you said: 

“If you keep acting like this, definitely I could fall in love with you”

We said Good bye in the same intense way we said Hello. 

Days later, we went to a movie theatre. 
You invited me to watch a movie and you even bought popcorns. 
I don't remember what was the movie about. 
I just remember the touch of your hands, when our hands accidentally coincided on the popcorn bucket. It was a pretty sexual moment. 
I just remember you by my side. We were so close together. 
You had your hair tied up and suddenly you let it go. You gave me a glimpse. The light of the screen illuminated your face. You said: 

“Maybe I will I give you a surprise” 

And it was silly –how in the hell could it be a surprise, if you were talking me about it!–, but it was also a pretty sexual moment. I still remember the way you sort of licked your lips for a second after you said that spell. 

I felt so dumbfounded and then I asked you for a photograph –photographs were not as common as they are now– and you smiled and asked me if I wanted you to give me a photograph with you wearing a thong. 

I felt so excited. What the hell did you just say? Did I hear it correctly?
We returned to your car in another parking lot and you began to talk about a party. You wanted me to go with you. You promised me to drink tequila and “get wild”. 

You challenged me: 

“You don't know what kind of woman I am when I am drunk!”

Then you began to talk about the guys you used to see in this kind of parties. 
Apparently, you hated them and you were fresh meat for them, or something like that. 

Though your signals were so obvious, though I was so excited, I declined your invitation. 

Now, I sporadically dream about you and I wonder what's have been up of your life. 

Sleeping With Ghosts

Burn The Witch, The Witch Is Dead

It was the first day of classes of the year.

The university was really alive. 

They were dozens of students walking through the hallways.

I was in my small office, working on the last details of the class I was going to teach. 

I was just about to leave the office when I remembered that I needed an Epson projector. 

Then I walked, with my entire heavy bag, to the office of the Department Chief to asked her for the projector as I had done previously.

To be certain that it would not be a waste of time, I looked thru the window of her office and I saw she was there.

I found you on my way to the office.

We said Hi and it seemed that we were pretty familiar, though it had elapsed almost five years since the last time we had spoken.

You looked just as I remember you. 

Dunno why I felt so attracted to you. 

It seemed that we had had some sort of close relationship and that we were really god friends. We had some sort of trust that made me feel so comfortable.

I looked right into your eyes.

You had a witch glimpse. 

You looked like a witch. 
I was so surprised. I barely remember that you looked like a witch. 

I began to think in the witch of The Wizard of Oz. 
Somehow, you looked like Eva Green. 

I looked down and I saw your breasts. 
I began to think about your huge breasts.
They looked so warm. 

Back then, when I was a postgraduate student and my advisor forced us to have with him the last dinner of the year, we got sort of drunk. 

At the end of the dinner, as everyone was saying Good bye, we coincided in the room where we cleaned up every single glass equipment we employed on the lab. 

You were drunker than myself. 
I found you pretty attractive, washing a couple of glass cups. 

I was about to clean up my own glass cup. 

You saw me and smiled. 

I found you particularly nice to me. 

At a moment, I even thought you were making me a proposal and I realized that I had always felt sexually attracted to you and that I always wanted to touch your breasts. 

For a moment, I wondered how would it be to kiss you. 

In my dream, I stopped thinking about this memory, when I heard your voice on our way to the office of the Department Chief.

You spoke about your last paper and I told you that I knew about it because I had spoken with one of your pupils.

You asked me if I knew the details of the paper and I said No.

I sensed a vague feeling of disappointment in your face and I abruptly changed the subject.

I asked you about your daughter.

I realized that just a seconds before, you had told me that she was so big and I felt so dumb. 
I just had repeated a subject and it seemed that I wasn't listening to you. 

I sensed the same vague disappointment in your face. 

I just wanted to say that it might be cool to collaborate together, in an academic way. 

I just wanted to tell you so many things. 

I just wanted to tell you how difficult it was to prepare a bunch of classes from zero and to teach them and to have academic meetings once or twice per week...

I just wanted to tell you how demanding it was to coordinate collaborations here and there and to travel to Mexico City and to Juriquilla once or twice per month and to pretend to have time to write my own manuscripts and to perform my own research... but I felt so irresponsable and guilty.

We finally arrived to the office. 

The Department Chief was surrounded by dozens of pupils. 
It seemed that they were having troubles at attempting to built some sort of robot. 
The office also seemed a kindergarden.

She immediately gave me the Epson projector. It seemed more a tool box than anything. The box was yellow and it had a big thing that I employed to lift it up on my shoulder.

You did not stop talking and I knew my class was running by. 
Each second I felt more and more secretly attracted to you. 
At the end you introduced me to your lover. 
She was also a researcher and you kissed in front of me. 
I felt so dumbfounded and I woke up.

Why did I have this dream?

I suppose it's the first time I dream about you. 

Softer, Softest