sábado, 1 de octubre de 2011

The remains of the shipwreck

I have sinned again, whoever you are. I do not even know if you can hear me, or if you condescend to read what I write. I did not have dinner sat on a chair, again. I took my plate, full of chicken breasts, and put it back to where it was before. There was enough space on the table, but what irritated me most was how many empty chairs there were. I decided to change my habits while I was putting the fifth or sixth bite of my food to the empty space between my black woman lips. Every movement I made was slow. Strangely slow, as if I had been slowed down. I masticated slowly, rose up the fork and down again as if the hero in the film had been shot, and he knows he is about to die. The only "normal" gesture was the cutting. And that is because loneliness does sometimes make me agresssive and I do some things faster than usual. The fact is that my life is being really slow lately.

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