celotna stvar je dokaj uneventful, znam jo ze na pamet, ampak vseeno sem celo dopoldne cutila neko zivcnost. s pakiranje sem odlasala do zadnje minute, nekaj ni bilo prav. stvari sem iz bordo sivega nahrbtnika vzela vsaj trikrat, racionalno se nisem mogla spomnit nicesar, kar bi lahko manjkalo, ampak obcutek je ostal. tudi dolgo po tistem, ko smo zaprli vhodna vrata stanovanja zadnjega tedna.
zdaj vem.
pozabila sem naju.
zdaj mi je jasno, zakaj mi je roka tako pogosto usla na njeno desno bedro in zakaj sem s taksnim veseljem prepletala svoje prste z njenimi. tistega obcutka utesnjenosti, ko so prsti popolnoma “zaklenjeni”, nisem nikoli marala. ampak zdaj mi je jasno. iskala sem zadnje dotike. dogodek zadnjega dne, katerega bi bila morala pricakovati, sem dala nekam v pozabo, v najbolj temacn del mojih mozganov, a mi podzavest ni dala miru. prasica.
“ampak hvala za izkusnje.”
em, ja, prosim?
in zdaj je sla.
lepo od nje, da mi je vsaj par modric pustila.

dan po mojem rojstnem dnevu, na prvi jesenski dan, mi je koncno uspelo priti do slovenske obale in namocit noge v adriatik. nisem extra posebni ljubitelj slane vode, a chilliranje na obali vedno pase ko samar budali.
in smo sle.
morje, sonce, palme, horde turistov, veter v marelah, colni v marini, ribiske mreze, crne plasticne vrecke, martinckanje, nakljucni dotiki, ki niso bili nakljucni, mrzla voda, visoki valovi, smeh, umazan podplati, riba na krozniku, vonj morja v nosu in dremanje na zadnjih sedezih.
in bilo je lepo. hvala obema :*

ko te nekje v fantaziji zmoti viber zvoncek in si ne mores pomagat in gres prebrat njeno sporocilo in si navdusena, da si ga dobila, ker je bla tisina celo dopoldne, a istocasno ti je prekinlo rdeco nit misli in zdaj ne ves vec, kaj si pisala in kako bos lahko spet prisla na oni level, ko poskusas lepoti njenega nasmeha dodelit neke pocukrane crke, besede, in najraje bi si izmislila neko cisto novo besedo za tisti njen pogled, ko se pretvarja, da ji ni nerodno, ki je zelo podoben tistemu pogledu, ko razmislja, da mi je stoposto spet bedno, in a niso v resnici vse besede izmisljene, sploh pa tale, ki opise naju, “nic”?

me fui, pa echarte de menos
me fui, pa volver de nuevo
me fui, pa estar sola
me fui

The first time I saw her..
Everything in my head went quiet.
All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.
When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments.
Even in bed, I’m thinking:
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips..
Or the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek.
I knew I had to talk to her.
I asked her out six times in thirty seconds.
She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.
On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, ortalking to her..
But she loved it.
She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday.
She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.
When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because Idefinitely lock the door eighteen times.
I’d always watch her mouth when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked;
when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.
At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off.
She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her.
But then.. She said I was taking up too much of her time.
That I couldn’t kiss her goodbye so much because I was making her late for work..
When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line..
When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking..
And last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place.
She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but..
How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her?
Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I justcan’t.
I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her.
Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.
I see myself crushed my an endless succession of cars..
And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.
I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel..
How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe.
How she blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out—….
Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.
I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once—he doesn’t care if it’s perfect!
I want her back so bad..
I leave the door unlocked.
I leave the lights on.

seznam vseh fraz.