I just needed you to tell me that you didn't love me anymore, that I was a disaster, that I never heard you. Anything that clarified what you thought, what those empty eyes said, even if it was a lie. I preferred a lie to silence, but I knew I should silence my suffering.
It wasn't love, much less a tragic disaster between you and me, that was not the point, the point was another. And I understood you, in your place I would have done the same, believe me. What was due to my discomfort then?
I had actually done it, the blame wasn't yours, but mine, but at the same time yours, yours for doing it and being, but, what?
You looked at me, I looked at you. There you were scattered like a rag on the ground, with your arms stretched and open on your head, dry eyes, as well as your lips and pale cheeks so you hadn't been exposed to the sun; you didn't, you didn't like the sun too much. You saw yourself as the sweet I lost as a child, the one that had rotted in my pocket, the caramel I had left for months in the closet and never opened.
"Don't look at me like that," I said.
"How?
"Just like that
It wasn't a warm day, I could even say that it ran windier than in the winter, there was cold and smelled of freshly cut grass even if we were in an empty cement building in the middle of nowhere. I had chills and a icy neck like ice.
I just wanted you to tell me that you didn't love me anymore, that I was a disaster, that I never heard you. Anything that clarified what you thought, what those empty eyes said, even if it was a lie. I preferred a lie to silence, because I didn't want anything and you didn't want anything. But I believed, no, I knew, yes, I knew very deeply that in another life we would have been, a life in which your moon eyes did not exist, a life in which I did not exist.
