Letter to my lover
I love you more and more. I miss you when you are
I love you more and more every day. Even when I
have to hold you because you are falling after drinking a bottle of wine.
Even when I ignore your presence because I am so occupied with my own
Yes, I love you more every moment. However, my craving
for your touch, for your presence, that so much stimulates my mind and
imagination will probably not avoid the unavoidable. In some time you
will not be more than another one of the characters I collect for my stories.
You will meet a girl that you will drag in a bar. And she will be soft
and intelligent and not to experienced in bed, but oh, so sensual... and
I will nor have been here for two or three months... or you will come
to the conclusion I am too demanding, too possessive or that, despite
what you admired in me, I am weak and cry like the others. Or I will loose
my fascination for you because
Now, I love you more and more every second. But,
of course, there is the question of time and space, the later the worst
enemy of our senses and flesh. Far away from sight, our eyes will forget
the shape of each others.
I love you more and more...
Arnhem, October 2002
Revenge is served cold
Paula had not been in town for a year and asked
In fact, every time I go there and lean on the bar I have to stand his boosting about the last girl he just had in the toilet.
Once I went in with Ana and he came all smiles to her. Hi! Don't you remember me, she asked? No, but I don't now how I could forget those Greek traits of yours, he answered.
We met the night of the opening of Nova, six months ago, Ana told him. Oh! Now I remember! Wasn't it a fucking good fuck?, he cried.
I could not believe my hears. I went pale. Maybe the music is too loud, Ana said, I can't hear you.
Last month, by chance, I ended up going back to his bar. The moment he set eyes on me I expected the usual ordeal of badly fucked gorgeous women he was obliged to content through the night in his fancy tilled, but not so clean, toilets.
Instead, he just turned his chin to the corner where I found Ana, smiling to me. He looked serious and whispered to me: she says she has AIDS. What I'm I going to do, tell me, you are my friend! I answered nothing and he had to back to his public relations, with a forced smile.
Ana left her corner, still smiling, and, while passing by, went: revenge his served cold!
I haven't been to his bar, since. But someone told me it has been closed for some time.
Lisbon, August 2002