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What am I looking for?

Well, let’s see.

Someone to spend an evening with, to go to the beach with, to share conversations and caresses. Distraction would be ideal. Friends are nice, but I want the kind of intensity that can only come from being sucked into a void of passion and then spat out at the drop of a hat for no good reason.

In short, someone to take the edge off.

Last week I was seeing someone who gave me exactly what I was looking for, without knowing it, of course. Total insanity and off the meds. That stereotypical fantasy that includes music, intimate bars late at night in the more poetic quarter of this cosmopolitan city idealised by Americans and other Europeans alike. Being introduced to his friends after the second date. “I haven’t met anyone who gives me that feeling, you know, but with you it’s different.” That sort of thing, that surely can’t exist.

If you can give me all of that with the security that you won’t drag me on the roller coaster of your mania and leave me on the ground at the end that would be great.

I recently entertained the idea, favoured by those who care about me, of getting involved with someone good and stable. An engineer, for example. He comes across as nice, but there seems to be a hole left where the addiction, the depression and the wounds left by life belong. And he has money.

Love/hate relationship with money. Of course, it’s nice to eat in cafés and restaurants, go for a drink, pay for the petrol and the flights that will take you to the more hard-to-reach places where you can learn things, pay for a wedding, pay for the children, pay for the retirement. Pay for a place to sleep. Strip it away, however, and you’re left with an authenticity evident only in the destitute. When the brands and the pretentions are gone, you see real appreciation for real life. Not because of desperation, because it’s real.

It’s great to be alone. Strong, independent, driving with the windows down and the music up. Then you park, go through the door and sit on the sofa and wonder why on earth you were doing that and when and where you can drive to next.

Oh well, he didn’t feel like me, so on we go. Swipe left, swipe left, oh go on then, a right. Blablabla.

A lovesong. Didn’t I do well.

Well, that’s that.

I guess I can’t complain.

I knew it was going nowhere,

but it’s shitty all the same.

I never saw this coming,

why should I feel so sore?

You were just a fun distraction,

too messed up for anything more.

 

Anyway, why waste time

dwelling on the inconstancy of man?

This certainly wouldn’t be the first rhyme

to rage on a romantic sham.

 

That’s the only reason

I let you in that second night;

not because your sexual charm

was too irresistible to fight.

But with every further motive

you gave me to run away,

I discovered that getting to know you

only made me want to stay.

 

So tell me, why waste time

dwelling on the inconstancy of man?

This certainly wouldn’t be the first rhyme

to rage on a romantic sham.

 

Perhaps it was your honesty

about who you were that did it.

Or maybe even that was false

and oh, how well you hid it?

Hands and kisses and music and talk,

declarations and plans

turned into silence just like that,

not even you understand.

 

Anyway, why waste time

dwelling on the inconstancy of man?

This certainly wouldn’t be the first rhyme

to rage on a romantic sham.

Dilemma: a Haiku

I didn’t write for

three years, until I met you.

I hate you for that.

 

Something like a Tracy Chapman Song

What can I offer you?

You share your song with whoever shows up,

eight births and a caesarean,

9 chunks of you chucked at whoever checks like,

I wait all week and then some more,

– fumbling, floundering through the days, distracted –

to have just three of your nine lives just for me.

De que cantas? Me da igual. Entiendo el sentimiento y lo tengo para mi.

I want to teach you, but I don’t have the words.

I want to dance with you, but I don’t have the courage.

I take, take, take your music and your energy.

You give me your all, you bare your soul.

Is my quiet company enough for you?

It must be. It must be.