raccoon

 I woke up with the sun. I looked out the crack in my room and saw life play outside. So much happiness that I breath in and still I struggle not to suffocate. There is nothing special about my day, for I still don’t know her. It’s been so long since I even tried to be understood in this way, and for that I will always apologize.

I stepped on the green grass brought by spring. I felt every new piece of it, every fruit of every plant that I stepped on. I felt life touch my skin while I kept trying to suck it all in with every breath. Every step, every particle of polen that I spread with my feet. Pointlessly in this sterile city, I might add. 

I look at the orange sky, I watch its colors get duller by the second as I walk towards my destiny. I still don’t know her, I don’t know that she is still sound asleep. Beautifully, peacefully, breathing in all the darkness that I bring her way, exhaling in the most harmonious sigh. The slight change in her tone is enough to feel earth tremble beneath my feet. Even if I don’t know yet.

I walk and walk, unknowingly running to find my purpose, that now stands patiently waiting for something, someone, that is not me. I see the gray sky, I know that I am approaching my end. After meeting her, there is no point in existing. She is my all, and somehow I already know. I seize every second of the last of me. I feel my skin touch the grass. I feel the polen I breath in, in the hope of a life that I know won’t begin. 

The grass is now tense under my feet, preparing for the storm we both know is coming our way. Am I going towards the storm? Is it inevitable? Not one inch in me cares. If there is one thing I know and want in this life is for this storm to take me. Finally, desperately. I touch the concrete and feel the harshness that I deserve. I must prepare myself for all the troubles that will come with my storm. 

From a distance, I finally see her. The hair like a rainforest awaiting to seduce anyone and everyone into their most painful death. The eyes like the deep river I remember my grandmother warning me about. 

I remember the curiosity I had and have now again. I would spend hours trying to see, diving deeper and deeper, forcing to open my eyes inside the water, only to realize whatever depth there is is not for me to discover. After years going back to the same spot, fighting against the same curiosity, the river paid me back. It revealed itself to me and not to anyone else. 

Here I am again, faced with that same river, now in her eyes. I see all of it now. I see the slight brown in the tips of her hair like dry leaves in an old tree. I see that it is not for me to decipher what is shown to me, only to feel it. I let the storm take control of me. I feel the water invade my skin and hope to reach a small enough space to drown, finally. 

She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t see me at all and I am quick enough to hide, just not quick enough not to become a thought. This is who I need to be. A mere thought that should cross her mind only in the moments of plain confusion. That is the closest I can get to retribute the immensely rich curiosity she provides me. So, I hide, and stay hidden, waiting, rooting for her waters to dominate me completely.