I wonder what might have existed in all that never happened, and I go back as far as my memory allows, trying to gather, from pieces of my history, codes to decipher, roses to wither, kisses to remember. I remain static on some stairway leading to the clearing of your portal, watching myself kiss you, feeling that moisture, tracing your essence with my senses, inhaling your perpetual soul and adding shades of you that I did not experienced. Distant bells ring, I levitate to a floating cloak, and I see you as beautiful as you were, with the thin ponytail from the braid of your hair, the harmonious smile of my sleepless nights, and your hands that have more lines than the sea has waves. I ponder whether there might be a universe where your perfume does not make me cry, where in one of them this would end with the wrinkles of your voice calling me to dinner, whether you would become as beautiful as I once imagined, when wrinkles fill your temples, in the time I thought would also be mine.
And to revisit other moments again, where you were not mine, as an spectator on the brink of a subtle madness, where my mind refuses to sleep, accompanied by the crickets of the starry night and some sad waft of borrowed air, at times, where my glow is not in the sunsets of nights that belong to others. The desire to forget you engulfs me, I no longer want the prison of those moments, where joy was not so costly, where dancing with you was a charm that always ended with your finger silencing my lips, because I never knew how to be quiet, only to let myself be carried away by the magical illusion of watching you. What anguish must have snatched you, realizing that my words hid a thousand mysteries you could never understand.
I miss who I was and than who I will be tomorrow, because your life will be a slap that will chase me relentlessly until there are no more memories left to forget.
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