The debate was wearing me out. Once
you've posed that question, it won't go away. I think many people kill
themselves simply to stop the debate about whether they will or they
won't.
Anything I thought or did was immediately drawn into the
debate. Made a stupid remark--why not kill myself? Missed the
bus--better put an end to it all. Even the good got in there. I liked
that movie--maybe I shouldn't kill myself.
Actually, it was only
part of myself I wanted to kill: the part that wanted to kill herself,
that dragged me into the suicide debate and made every window, kitchen
implement, and subway station a rehearsal for tragedy.
I didn't
figure this out, though, until after I'd swallowed the fifty aspirin.
They were metaphorical. I wanted to get rid of a certain aspect of my
character. I was performing a kind of self-abortion with those aspirin.
It worked for a while. Then it stopped,-but I had no heart to try again.
Dame cien kilos de aspirinas, dame una tarde libre de tu memoria, regálame un minuto de paz de tu Mirada. Porque te vas, con un pasado y un futuro; mientras yo me quedo acá, con el equipaje en mano, esperando por tu partida. Te vas, liberándote de mí y de todo lo demás. Ya estamos demasiado rotos –broken- por dentro como para curarnos. Tus heridas no cicatrizan, no sanan, no mejoran, no avanzan. Todo tu ser está en ella, y nada en mí. Y solo puedo resignarme a verte, a escucharte mientras me ilusionas. Palabras que quedan grabadas en mi memoria, pero que no son para mí.
Dame una tarde libre de tu memoria; concédeme una noche donde no importe tu pasado. Donde solo exista un presente y un ahora; y un nosotros, por sobre todas las cosas.
Y me pongo los auriculares, en busca de un alivio a esta tarde; pero el mundo y mi destino parecen complotarse para volver a encontrarte en canciones:
I thought that you were safe, but all your cracks show that I could get undressed, you still look depressed. It’s all too much, you’re so cold to touch, and you don’t open up. Your kisses are not what I wanted; your kisses are not what I crave. Your kisses may be a beautiful art, but all I ever wanted was your heart, right from the start.
Then I see that I’m not the only one in your life; and I start to wonder what this girl, she might be like. I look into your eyes when you’ve been crying, to see if the tears that she made are slowly drying. But even if they dry, it doesn’t mean that you’re feeling ok, because you’re still sad inside. All you really need is her to comfort you; but she doesn’t understand, she doesn’t hold your hand.
Her kisses were just what you wanted; her kisses were just what you crave. And her kisses may be a beautiful art, but she doesn’t really care about your heart…
