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I listen to your heart reveal to me all its cares, and right from the start I fall into its snares. Now I know why you frown and look at me with teary eyes and the reason your voice quivers asking for my advice, as if I were wise. Then you turn your gaze away to conceal your shame, and, in a fit of despair, you whisper his name. But, tell me, in all honesty, why shouldn’t I say good-bye? Why shouldn’t I leave you empty? After all, you are merely a passer-by.
I sympathize and make an effort to understand. But, as much as I agonize when you are in pain, I am really annoyed, and I can’t persist. I can’t defend your stand. I’d rather not hear his name. He might as well not exist. I don’t care about him. Why should I? His love for you is only a game.
As you continue to speak nonsensically, as if from a distant place, mistaking me for someone else, you reach for my hand. I shudder, pull it back, and recoil. I don’t want my emotions left in disarray by someone who is here only temporarily. I refuse to let my passion languish in a wasteland.
When you finally acknowledge me and inquire about how I have been, with my thoughts swirling in anarchy, over which I can’t possibly win, I lie, answering that I am doing fine.
There are many things you will never know. I watch you anxiously when you smile with your sparkling eyes. I follow your hands everywhere, as they move gracefully through the air. I can barely comprehend your words. I just focus on your mouth and rejoice. I am not truly paying attention. I am simply entranced by the uncanny tone of your voice. I am familiar with the feel of your skin, even though I have never touched you. I know the softness of your lips, though I have never kissed you. I will never tell you about the sleepless nights, how I light up at the sight of your name in my inbox, or how a fortnight feels endless as I wish the hours away until you are once again walking by my side, close to me.
Soon you will be done, vanished from my life, like others who have come and gone. Unaware of the impact you had on me. Because of you, I have learned to repress my dark side and let the bright one free. No, I will never tell you these things. Why would I? I will say it again: you are just a passer-by, a temporary life that briefly intersected with mine.
© William Almonte Jiménez, 2012
