8- Letter to Patrick
Patrick
Letter to Patrick:
Patrick, now I know that destiny doesn't bear your name. My traveling moon, somewhere in the world you are there. With your years of crosses and suns. And the matriarchal wisdom of your family kissing your forehead. Everything that I don't know about life extends over your mind, and you keep it hidden beneath your words. Like the cloak of stars in the universe silently forming constellations ignited by the kisses on your forehead. You open up, showing yourself to the world, caressing your life with the sweetness of someone who fears hurting others with their own splinters, and hides their brilliance to avoid awakening envy. You show yourself cautious and prudent, and I wait to reveal myself to you. I discover your creative power in your eyes, in that gaze of a girl and young woman. Your sparkling smile shines upon my immortal coquetry. I adorn myself for you like a dancer who dances to her moon. When I used to dance in my past years, and you smiled in my dreams. I survive by laughing, wishing for you to save me, for you to save me without me asking, without searching for you, without knowing how suffocated I am. My tears bear your name, and I dry them with the same delicacy as one caresses an bird's feathers. "Let me see those owl eyes," you used to say, inspecting my eyes every time I was about to cry. "You have the gaze of a cat," you would assure me, about to make me smile and stop the water faucets now open. I loved you because you knew how to read my illusions in my pupils, and you did everything possible to wipe them away with smiles before making me cry.
Today I've been told that every day I resemble you more. Because I have become modest and distant. Prudent regarding my problems; now I listen and ask about others before having to talk about myself. I seek to escape, and in doing so, evade you. I dig a tunnel filled with light to hide you there and then cover you with night and darkness. When everyone leaves and solitude reigns, I feel you shining deep within my thoughts, in every decision I make, in every step I take towards my goals. I hope to become like you. Just as every day you wanted to resemble your Aunt Catrina when you were a star shining in the sky: you wanted to pour your healing light upon all beings who had lost themselves in their own darkness. My thoughts converge on a "I wish", I wish to resemble you more. May my life be a reflection of your dreams because true fulfillment lies in motivating and achieving for you, and becoming light by your side. To see the sky without music, to listen to the silence of the stars and know that everything that sounds, expands, curls up and is released, is born from your body. Forgive my sentimentalities Patrick, but I don't know how to write to you in any other way, nor look at you, nor smile at you, nor even speak to you from any other place but gentleness and tenderness. From there I take hold like a flame that ignites my soul, you make me burn like a bonfire that burns, moves, and transforms you. My heartbeat is a song composed with a promise inside, intertwined with yours, since that time I opened my mouth and your heartbeats climbed up my throat. Patrick, I never told you, but I made you a promise the first time I kissed you: "Someday I will dance with you until the lights surrender to your feet and chaos and silence reign, and we will no longer fear anything."
I told you, in a silver kiss, how beautiful your caresses seemed, like a moonbeam on my shoulders. Clock, pause your course for just an instant, and let the future call me and entangle me at its whim if I manage to reach your mouth. I want to carry your Venus, virgin and pure, in my flesh, bones, and pupils. If you give me a thousand reasons to trust that my self-love soothes me in the absence of yours. I will continue to love and care for myself in order to care for the part of you that envelops my existence. If I carry you, beautiful, in my footsteps, your caresses in my hands, your voice in my shouts, and your laughter in my tickles, if I carry your strength, above all your strength, in any of my steps; it will be the best way I have to take care of you. If I keep the subtlety you possess to take risks and take action in each of my inactions, which means nothing more than the extension of something momentary that is destined to be lost between your hands, like the fear I feel of becoming smoke in your life, like the cold water that caresses and cleans your hands before drifting far away from you. To let go, to jump, to fly. To be free and be of the wind. To fragment into a thousand pieces when you touch me, like the sand that becomes my body when you caress me and time begins to run, faster, much faster than any of my undulating and eager movements to discover you within each of my sensations. That I love you, that I love you until I die, Patrick, until I kill those who hurt you, that I love you even without wanting you, respecting your freedom. In your fusion with everything and your fragmentation that brings you closer to nothingness. The tranquility and serenity that you inspire in me is the means, not the end.
Oh Patrick, I desire you with the same strength that I desired you before stumbling upon your presence the first time I saw you, without even knowing your name; without knowing the intensity of my desire, or the charisma of my body and the spark ignited in my heart by your existence.
Love,
Dasy