“Te quiero, pero no como ese querer que viene antes de amar, te quiero como quiero ir a París.”
i wanted to delete that cortázar quote but every time i tried, i remembered that whenever i pick up hopscotch (rayuela), i think of you.
poetry is something i turn to when i need answers, or when i can't phrase my questions. i have never been a poet though i have found myself spouting it on more than one occasion. and i keep turning to it now, as if it holds what i have been so tirelessly looking for.
but i am tired, love.
i can never know how i love you. i can never understand how you love me. i can be and un-be at the same time, if such a thing has ever been possible.
because i do love you, with and without all complexities and pride. i love you simply, and intricately, and i love you close and i love you from a distance. i know i love you, even on the days i feel you have forgotten, and especially on the nights where i wish not to love you anymore. i am exhausted, drained. i can feel the love, yes, but with an unmistakable touch of loneliness, and it feels colder than what they told me love looks like.
i think about you. constantly. relentlessly.
i love you. constantly. achingly.
i do not miss you, but you, you are missing from me. a part of me i cannot bear to touch whenever you are not near.
