La Charla
“Los amorosos son los que abandonan,
Son los que cambian, son los que olvidan.”
Jaime Sabines
In the darkest night, in the purest silence, our tragic scene develops. Your lips adhered to mine by magnetic attraction, my eyes united to your fate. And in the profound hollow that my absence leaves: your little lament, that won’t be heard. Through your arms full of wind a few tears roll down for the shipwrecked love. My stone cover dissolves at the time as my spirit is given off this useless, sterile time.
The furies keep watch longing to dominate you, but you silent as ever, battle them with cold looks, with no fear as someone who has lost it all and hasn’t much to win. In your arms I leave my last breath…
“What are you thinking?”, you ask with absurd naiveté. That’s all you had to spoil me the fantastic scene of pathetic misfortune I had designed for myself. It was wonderful, to think in your little world corroding by guilt. Why the hell do you ask me what I think.
“In you”, I say with fake and cynical smile. What a way out! Only I can think of such a nonsense, surely you will ask what I think, that’s it! Your lips start to move. Horror! The question… I knew it! You are so disgustingly predictable. And I ask you “would you cry?, I ask without words, to avoid explanations, with a look of secret scrutiny.
You don’t understand, of course. You have never been able to know what I’m thinking. And now, what do I reply? No, better quiet, and with a kiss I kill finally the conversation.
Why didn’t I stay home?
And back to the speeches, I see you monologue like a kid enthusiastic and fresh, while you spell a whole pale and innocent epistle of the kindness of our expired life together, while I struggle alone with my dark thoughts.
“Hey, are you listening?”
the automatic response: “of course I am, darling”
Lie. I could have been observing that miserable piece of parsley stuck in your teeth, but I wasn’t I had my own encounter with the interminable issue: the nothingness, the impertinent self that persists to me: “you are free!” I don’t need you, I don’t love you, I’m fed up.
And the plot thickens on you sad discurse of the aesthetic values of human relations, ours of course. Why can’t you understand out verbs haven’t conjugated in first person of the plural since a long time ago? It’s been months since we are just you and I separately, not “us”. The rest was just part of the acnecdotic book of lies and hypocrisy., just like being here, listening to you blasphemy against love.
How dare you invoke it’s name in my presence? You who are not capable of surrender. I seek, throughout your face, perhaps a little gesture that could convince me to stay here in the midst of this farce. And you talk about the future when I’m not even sure about the present, when the road to my fears is ever more narrow and the loneliness together is even more solid.
The falsehood pulsating over me fills me with rancor. I dream of revenge and I see you there, sitting waiting for a response to a question to which it is no time to answer.
You pick up my tense hands from the table, you trap it in yours. Your eyes are full of tears and you ask me if I know. How can I not know, I know you more than myself. Enough to know when you’re lying. I could say no and let you dream nothing happened, but I don’t. Facing your troubled gesture I stand up finally, I don’t love you enough to forgive you the lack of loyalty. Without looking back I leave for oblivion.
En la noche más oscura, en el silencio más puro se desarrolla nuestra trágica escena. Tus labios adheridos a los míos por atracción magnética, mis ojos unidos a tu destino. Y en el profundo hueco que deja mi ausencia: tu lamento pequeño, que no quiere escucharse. Por tus brazos repletos de viento ruedan unas cuantas lágrimas por el amor naufragado.
Mi envoltura pétrea se desmorona al tiempo que mi espíritu se desprende de este tiempo inútil, estéril. Acechan las furias intentando dominarte, pero tú, silencioso como siempre, las combates con miradas heladas, sin miedo, como quien lo ha perdido todo y no tienen nada que ganar. En tus brazos dejo el último aliento…
“¿En qué piensas?”, preguntas con absurda candidez. Eso es todo, tenías que estropearme la escena de patetismo que me había diseñado. ¡Era maravilloso! Pensar en tu pequeño mundillo corroyéndose por la culpa. ¿Por qué diablos preguntas que pienso? “En tí”, digo con falsa y cínica sonrisa. ¡Qué salida!, sólo a mí se me ocurre algo semejante, seguro me preguntas ¿qué pienso?, eso es tus labios comienzan a moverse. ¡Horror al crimen! La pregunta… Lo sabía, eres putrefactamente predecible. Y te cuestiono, “¿Llorarías?”, te lo pregunto sin palabras para no dar explicaciones con un cierto aire secreto de escrutinio. No entiendes, ¡claro! Nunca has podido descifrar lo que estoy pensando. Y ahora ¿qué te contesto?... mejor no, calladita estoy mejor, y con un cursi besito mato de una vez la conversación. ¿Por qué no me quedé en casa?
Y vuelta al rollo, te observo monologar como un chiquillo entusiasmado y fresco, mientras deletreas una epístola demacrada e inocente sobre las bondades de nuestra caduca vida en común, mientras me debato sola con mis oscuros pensamientos.
“Oye, ¿me escuchas?”
El automático “¡Sí, claro!”
Mentira. Me hubiese podido quedar observando ese inmundo pedacito de perejil que se te quedó en un diente, pero no fue así, yo tuve mi propio encuentro con el rollo interminable: la nada, el self impertinente que me insiste: “¡Eres libre!” Ni te necesito, ni te quiero, me tienes harta.
Y se engrosa la trama de tu triste discurso de los valores estéticos de las relaciones humanas, las nuestras, por supuesto. ¿Por qué no puedes entender que nuestros verbos hace tiempo que no se conjugan en primera persona del plural. Hace meses que no somos, sino tú y yo por separado. Lo demás fue sólo parte del anecdotario de la mentira e hipocresía, igual que estar aquí sentada escuchándote blasfemar contra el amor.
¿Cómo te atreves a invocar su nombre en mi presencia? Tú que no tienes idea de lo que es la entrega. Y busco, por todo tu rostro, acaso un gesto imperceptible que me invite a quedarme aqui en medio de esta farsa. Y hablas de futuro, cuando ni siquiera estoy segura del presente, cuando en el camino a mis miedos es cada vez más pequeño, y la soledad en común se hace más sólida.
La falsedad punzante sobre mí, me llena de rencores. Sueño con la venganza, y te veo allí, sentadito, esperando contestación a una pregunta que no es momento de responder. Recoges mi mano tensa de encima de la mesa, la atrapas en la tuya. Tus ojillos se llenan de lágrimas y me preguntas si ya lo sé. ¿Cómo no saberlo si te conozco mejor que a mí misma? Lo suficiente para saber cuando estás mintiendo. Puedo decirte que no, y sin embargo no lo hago.
Y ante tu gesto descompuesto me levanto finalmente, no te quiero lo suficiente para perdonarte la deslealtad. Sin mirar atrás, me marcho hacia el olvido.
In the darkest night, in the purest silence, our tragic scene develops. Your lips adhered to mine by magnetic attraction, my eyes united to your fate. And in the profound hollow that my absence leaves: your little lament, that won’t be heard. Through your arms full of wind a few tears roll down for the shipwrecked love. My stone cover dissolves at the time as my spirit is given off this useless, sterile time.
The furies keep watch longing to dominate you, but you silent as ever, battle them with cold looks, with no fear as someone who has lost it all and hasn’t much to win. In your arms I leave my last breath…
“What are you thinking?”, you ask with absurd naiveté. That’s all you had to spoil me the fantastic scene of pathetic misfortune I had designed for myself. It was wonderful, to think in your little world corroding by guilt. Why the hell do you ask me what I think.
“In you”, I say with fake and cynical smile. What a way out! Only I can think of such a nonsense, surely you will ask what I think, that’s it! Your lips start to move. Horror! The question… I knew it! You are so disgustingly predictable. And I ask you “would you cry?, I ask without words, to avoid explanations, with a look of secret scrutiny.
You don’t understand, of course. You have never been able to know what I’m thinking. And now, what do I reply? No, better quiet, and with a kiss I kill finally the conversation.
Why didn’t I stay home?
And back to the speeches, I see you monologue like a kid enthusiastic and fresh, while you spell a whole pale and innocent epistle of the kindness of our expired life together, while I struggle alone with my dark thoughts.
“Hey, are you listening?”
the automatic response: “of course I am, darling”
Lie. I could have been observing that miserable piece of parsley stuck in your teeth, but I wasn’t I had my own encounter with the interminable issue: the nothingness, the impertinent self that persists to me: “you are free!” I don’t need you, I don’t love you, I’m fed up.
And the plot thickens on you sad discurse of the aesthetic values of human relations, ours of course. Why can’t you understand out verbs haven’t conjugated in first person of the plural since a long time ago? It’s been months since we are just you and I separately, not “us”. The rest was just part of the acnecdotic book of lies and hypocrisy., just like being here, listening to you blasphemy against love.
How dare you invoke it’s name in my presence? You who are not capable of surrender. I seek, throughout your face, perhaps a little gesture that could convince me to stay here in the midst of this farce. And you talk about the future when I’m not even sure about the present, when the road to my fears is ever more narrow and the loneliness together is even more solid.
The falsehood pulsating over me fills me with rancor. I dream of revenge and I see you there, sitting waiting for a response to a question to which it is no time to answer.
You pick up my tense hands from the table, you trap it in yours. Your eyes are full of tears and you ask me if I know. How can I not know, I know you more than myself. Enough to know when you’re lying. I could say no and let you dream nothing happened, but I don’t. Facing your troubled gesture I stand up finally, I don’t love you enough to forgive you the lack of loyalty. Without looking back I leave for oblivion.
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