Ice

Today, as every morning, you ask me the same question: who are you? Who am I? I would like to laugh in your face: with that gaunt face, lazy eyes and crooked lips. You, with your dirty clothes of the last night, shuffling and blurred vision, you ask me who I am. I should be the one who asks. What would you answer me? Would you recognize yourself? I know that sometimes you even do not remember your name.

But you do not know who I am, you are not interested in remembering me. You are not interested in looking back, in reliving failed dreams, the shed tears, the heartbreaking shouts, and the forgotten loneliness. You prefer to drown yourself in a clinking glass with tow ices, to pretend that you have fun with boisterous laughs and to sleep soundly in the nights, on the floor or in the bed, in a house that it is not your home. Because you have lost everything. You have lost me.

Don’t you care? No, you do not care because you do not know me. You do not know that I am able to tie a rope around your neck or to aim the gun to your head. I have the courage that you do not. For that reason, you have forgotten me.

I, with the well-dressed tie, with the perfect shirt, with a sincere smile, I look at you every morning and reproach you what you have become. Because in some place under your skin, I am still important to you. After all the wasted nights, the clarity comes, the oasis in the desert, the chair in which you rest your feet in order to not drown yourself, the deflected bullet that does not reach its destination. And there, there we are, facing each other, trying to recognize us, wondering in what we have become.

Because you always wanted to be me and I never bore to be you. For this reason, you have forgotten me; for this reason, I never give up.

Who are you?, you will wonder every day facing the mirror. And you will never find the answer. Because both, you and I, are lost in the time. Just look at yourself, look at me. Who is who? Look at us: we are pathetic.

It does not matter the answers. You will remember me just an instance every morning. Then, when the night comes back, I will be just a drop more in your melted ices.

Inspired in the poem Contra Jaime Gil de Biedma, by Jaime Gil de Biedma.

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