Odio es amor truncado

Today, it seems, is a day for the past to rear it’s ugly head. You saw two such reminders, all within thirty minutes. Rather than dwell on the negativity they could bring up why not reflect on how you have changed and become a better person from those people and the experiences they created.

What is love without hate?

Is it anything at all?

Does love lose its importance without its opposite?

First there was the Indian girl. You ran into her on the streetcar ride to campus, she was leaving work. Apparently she had returned from Arizona. Despite all the time between she remembered where you used to live with the puta. It was, of course, right across the street. Silly you asked if she was still friends with the puta, to which you were surprised to hear yes and even that the Indian girl had spent Thanksgiving with her. Terrible feelings surfaced and you felt that familiar pesadez tapping on your soul. Fuck those bitches. Despite the years, the thought of her makes your blood run cold.

The second run-in was short, but still bitter on your part. It was that stupid boy, who said stupid things and still gives you stupid looks. It’s just stupid.  Don’t say what you don’t mean, after all. He’s still cute, even cuter maybe. Passing by him in the rain, him with his darting eyes and passive-aggressive silence reminded you of his boyfriend, the other man, yet another bitch. 


As it has been said: 
within the fool’s eyes lies love,
Love lies and al final, love truncated is just hate.  

Putas tristes

Hoy te vi inesperadamente  pasando por la calle. No me veías porque estaba colgado en el tren. Estuviste vestido de azul, mi color favorito. Era en aquel momento que me caí en la cuenta que no te echaba de menos y que soy mejor sin ti. Habrá sido dos años en febrero que separamos.

Hace mucho tiempo en que volvía a pensar en ti. A veces sopesaba si pensabas en mi, pero creía que no.  Así me dejaste solo, sin palabras suficientes ni la voluntad de llorar. No sé exactamente que quedaba en mi corazón después de ti pero que va…Ya no me importa.

A la vez es interesante verte así, caminando solo. ¿Qué haces ahora? ¿Qué piensas? ¿Estás solo o no? Ahora que no te espero algo mal como antes, espero que estés feliz por lo menos. Yo he logrado todo lo que quiero después de ti y por cierto que no hagas nada a mi corazón. No amor, ni vergüenza, ni odia. Es interesante, sí.

Te daba mucho de mi. Me fascinaba tu rostro, tus mejillas, tu sonrisa…Escribí un poema para ti pero nunca te entregué. Que dijeras si lo leíste? No acabaríamos entonces? Pero sé bien que no te amé.