03 de juliol 2010


Dejé el escrito abandonado a su buen albedrío... Reading, writing which has always accompanied me has been left to slumber these past months.
The months have passed turning around and wondering, wondering and constantly looking for thrills, not being thrilled by anything.

Mild Summer night. Bike ride. Stop in that shop where the clerk always says something nice to you. Today he says to me: we are closed. Hardly looks at me in the eyes. I think "this is what a histrionic finds annoying". I gain eye contact and he lets me in, mild smile and a thank you. There is a woman next to me whose energy eats me up. I can't stop staring at her and wonder why I dislike her so much, not knowing her a bit. I think it is OK not to like everyone and I realize that I have been closest to my feelings in those three minutes, sorrounded by those two strangers than the whole day by myself.
Makes me wonder.

Breakfast. Strong coffee. I couldn't shop for soy milk. I find ice cream in the fridge. That kind I would never buy. I decide to throw some in my coffee.
Terre Haute. Indiana. Mokka caramel. During my stay in the States I used to start or end a trip with a funny flavoured coffee. In Southern Europe, coffee has to taste like coffee.

New York, amaretto
Indiana, caramel, very creamy.
My farewell turned into a long goodbye due to the caramel. I got stuck to my little piece of heaven in Indiana. The caramel got stuck in my stomach, it hurt to leave.

This morning my improvised coffee suddenly reproduced a similar sensation.

It tasted like those feelings.
It seemed like a little piece of heaven gone. I am recognizing them. In my quiet coffee time.
Feels like feeling.