I sniffed cement

Well. This story stayed in the stack of stories to be told, since I wanted to add bitter comedy to the history of these ongoing restless months.

I guess there is no humour left here for a while, and unfortunately I had no camera to immortalize such a ridiculous moment: the day I sniffed cement.
Do you know when you receive some news you are actually not surprised of, but somehow not really ready to accept?
Well, what happens after? It has to be celebrated. You open your best red to sadly say farewell to the most precious moments, the most precious memories and the most precious individual you keep close to your heart.
Sometimes you have to be ceremonial .

At some point you get tired of the unilateral farewell and discover such moments can yield to other sensations that can keep your lyrical ego flowing in conceptual clouds. Clouds...

My best idea at that moment was a physical act: to finally remove old stuff from the terrace. You know, you want to stay clean in the inside and suddenly scrap the outside as if it was a temporary solution, to postpone the pain to come. Oh, yeah, you see it coming.
In my case a terrace full of a year of dried material and old useless gadgets (somebody sees the connection there?)
I swear I couldn't think of anything else than that filthy terrace, the result of a day by day of endless "mañanas".
One of the gadgets in question was a 25 Kilo heavy cement bag. Why not carrying a bag slightly lighter than half my weight on a dark October night? It had to go out that_very_moment. Out with the gadgets, the thoughts, the memories and the precious pain. Out with the excretions, the dusty static, the fetal cramps, the dry cretinism, the impertinent cataclysm, the inevitable implosion.
A heavy weight. A heavy weight held on my ceremonious sweaty, shaky hands, the crusty guano, ah, the roting carton.
3, 2 ... 1 it slept. Slept like all those hugs, like the memories, like all those words that will not be said, swollen, swallowed... Sniffed!
The bag, like my heart broke down the steps, both, one pounding upwards, the other bouncing downwards in a cloud of grey... My life turned suddenly in a dusty black and white peripathetic film.
My clothes, my hair and my face, the light faded, and I sat there, fetal, again trying to comprehend, looking at those grey dusty spots, like a Dutch sky indoors above red carpet, all over the stairway. I saw it coming, but how couldn't I help it from happening? Why? WHY??!!

Apart from lyrical allegory, all that was left were 25 Kilograms of dry cement spread on each step. I was too afraid to cry for fear I would petrify that very moment and become an amalgam of cement and salty water.

Oh dear! It took me about one and a half hours to get it all out, to accept the failure and my lack of planning skill: I could have secured it, act preventively, but now, spread on the floor, now it was too late. There comes the time to pick up the pieces, to sweep the leftovers, to gather a pile of dust all around, over and partly inside of you. And make a new bag with whatever can still be collected.

Coming back to wine, after the exhausting task of cleaning, I decided to indulge myself with another couple of glasses of sweet, ceremonial aroma and taste. My unilateral farewell party wasn't over, yet. Could it get worse?

The mix resulted in a stomach ball. I felt it in the morning, I couldn't sleep, couldn't quite walk. It felt as if I had made a mixture of 10 Kilos of cement with wine in my stomach. In fact I kinda did...
That day I didn't leave the house. The sky was heavy, so was my head, so were my guts.
I babbled my last words, this time in an asynchronously bilateral textual farewell speech. My tribute. My "I lost you one day, and when I lost your heart I lost myself". I searched for the arms that rocked my cradle to refuge under the wings of involuntarily re-experienced childhood.

The ball of cement eventually dissipated leaving an empty spheric and heavier ball in my insides, an ball full of very heavy empty. The grey cloud still goes with me to bed and doesn't let me sleep.
The day I lost myself I disappeared amidst a 25 Kilo cloud of cement. The smoky cement greyness flowed over my petrified heart and now wanders around grey streets under dark canals.

My tears now taste like concrete and roll down my cheeks like gravel.

May my clearing act flow with the wind like a cloud of dust for the sake of other's happiness... but mine.