I haven’t come to say
that sleeping without you
can sometimes be
as sad
as the war of silence
as still trams
as burning loneliness
as broken dolls
as July fog
as dead fish
and sick cats
(war)
because speaking of the without you
is a long story
as long
as those infinite wars
that begin with a god in the middle
and two sides
almost like that love in the middle
and you and me on the sides
waiting for the war
(that’s why this never ends)
this is how it is without you
bitter
like the shots of those wars
with their drunken gods
and their orphaned children
the without you is that cruel
like the notion of our delayed time
and the lie of forgetting
the without you is the prayer of the condemned
sitting in a park
who knows no doctor
who knows no saint
nor hope
nor faith
nor the other sisters
because the without you
is an orphan of everything
waiting for you to come
and recognize yourself
in me
in the heart you molded
in my scar with your name and surname
this is the without you without a home
a vagabond
moving
through places
and unused time zones
sleeping in asylums
listening to the laments of the sick
without sunsets
nor doves
nor nurses
this is it
the without you with you
in my life without you
always with you
it’s terrible
because it’s simple
like a child’s drawing
badly done
and in pencil
without ground
nor house
nor tree
nor background
so simple
without shadows
like all the hotels
the carnivals
the fairs
the concerts
the beaches
the cities
all
without you
so simple
like seeing a child cry
or a bird walking
calm
with broken wings
the without you
is my empty first aid kit
is like me with a fever
lying on the floor
delirious
turning into water
because also the without you
inhabits my palate without you
like an empty cathedral
with walls that cry
my dark blood
the without you
in my heavy eyelids
because they don’t want to see
the without you
drawn in my dark circles
in my steps
in my sighs
in my yawns
in my heartbeats
that’s why
I didn’t want to talk about the without you
because as you see
it’s very long
complicated
absurd
it doesn’t end
doesn’t sleep
and doesn’t breathe
like the hours
like confinement
like me
before sleeping
like the gallop
in the ride
without reins
towards sleep
towards the past
on the back of an extinct dinosaur
looking for our future
(ours)
in the rust
in the walls
in the postcards
in the dawn
in the city that never slept
like diving in the sand
with eyes open
this is how it is without you
like this peace that never comes
for millions of hours
waiting in that airport
for so many journeys
without you
that without you
that never sleeps with you
and that you
that never comes
to this park of my vigils
to sleep on your knees
on a bench
my life
(ours)
though perhaps
it is
just
a nap