A letter from Jan 24, 2023

with time, memories may appear again - notes from the past, to refresh something forgotten, but learned. in a shape of a person, or an action, you go to the place of identification (internal or external) to experience the sensation of confusion as timelines seem to have crossed. now the reaction is something to be dealt with with less attachment possible, it may be a trap. too much nostalgia isn`t healthy for the brain nor the heart. me-myself, have been through so many experiences as an actor and as an observer that now, I just squinch my eyes in slight amusement while I feel the puzzles forming something still unknown in front of me. this one will pass, easily forgettable. the one from belfast that reminded you the child-man you dated in 14 and the other that you befriended in fundamental school. even then you could see the `acting`, the mutation behind the eyes that want to cause an impression that they need to sustain to be the characters that they wish to be. this one was a piece of art. imagine: Irish tall man, with an impressive beard, soft green eyes, tiny pointy nose and old school tattoos all over both arms. on his first few words I was already onto him. he held an air of being `superb` with a pride that was like a medal that he, himself put around his neck for checking the boxes that may justify any other toxic behaviour. this arrogant air, one that interrupts my words as if not even listening, boiled my predator blood, and in order to survive, I said I just rather go for the ****. I have no interest in chasing my pray today. or in this case, indulging. seems calculated, but it wasn`t. behind my ****** history, relies years of construction of conquering my own pleasure without the weight of the taboo. *** is my thing. I needed it to cover all the other pains behind my eyes. as soon as we left the pub I could breathe. felt better. maybe because he wasn't talking so much then. side-by-side we walked. I sustained my pace even with a hidden limp and a completely sore right-leg from the falls of yesterday (poetic and literal). he gasped some air and told of the remark as `being known` for being a fast-walker. hm. I just wanted to ****. arriving at his place; into the room, onto the foot of the bed, and clothes on the floor. I let him lick me all up. I wanted to smother that face with my power. he never dominated me. over and over, as he pounded, I was the one with the devil eyes. forgettable *** and I wish forgettable conversation. I was seeing too much in between breaths, I just wanted to walk away from the construction I was seeing. the politically engaged liberal feminist portraying this brilliant fella, that is not capable of listening to a single sentence of a women before barfing his own views and opinions on the table like it should wear a crown over it. well. with his mouth closed, I was tolerant. (or was I?) but I really just wanted to run away. (maybe I was just bearing it) well, since I was already there what can I do; back in the room, I rode him until his bed reached the other wall. he called me cute. I defy you to call me cute again when you are unable to speak because you`re almost having a stroke as I blow your **** and your mind. breathe. ok. I did it. I left in the am, searching for my cup of coffee. checking the city hall and the pink buses. staring at the corners where once rick stood with his half smile, both of us half heart broken for enduring so much distance in our closeness. sun on his skin. rick said he thought of me when he felt sun on his skin... ******* belfast. I see a couple staring at each other dearly. I hold my breath. I see a lady smiling at me at the other corner. I release my breath and hold on tight. I cross the street onto the library and carefully wipe out my tears that came out of a thought, that no one have seen, of the pain of missing that endearing love. went to the station, back to dublin it is. belfast almost always spits me out. thought of love, thought of home. thought of me, sitting there, one more time passing as things pass through me. sustaining my thoughts as I see the inevitable movement of things that change. where will they go this time? I stay curious, but practice this thing where I learn how to rest as well. the puzzle will reveal itself when it`s time. (I look at the sky, and amidst the while bubbly clouds I see a sausage dog running with stretched paws, and smile to myself.) I sat back on the bus, look ahead at the mirror on the booth, saw the focused eyes behind the wheel and spend a moment imagining how would be having the bus driver as a boyfriend. I wondered if he was affectionate, if he had some deep interests and knowledges that would fascinate me. I always assume that every encounter will fascinate me, in its simplicity or its delicious revealing layers. I stay curious and ready to be truly amazed. but sometimes it`s just a reminder from the past (that maybe the things you miss/ learn how and why to live without, are better off the picture that is forming while you move)