Otra vez soñé contigo.
Tal vez te traigo en la cabeza porque hoy es tu cumpleaños. Siempre sueño que voy a tu casa a recoger mis cosas; seguro que dejé algunas que me hubiera gustado conservar. No sé si las quemaste, les hiciste vudú, las echaste a la basura o las pusiste en una cajita secreta que algún arqueólogo encontrará en 3000 años. También sueño que platicamos y me cuentas de tu vida, porque ya no sé nada de ti. De repente, los tantos amigos en común, me cuentan cosas de ti y ojalá pudiera decir que te espío, pero me tienes bloqueadísima de todas las redes sociales. Nunca me enteré por qué. A lo mejor porque te lo prohibió tu ex, la que se volvió budista y me mandó un mensaje –después de que terminaron, obvio– para decirme que se había vuelto budista y parte de su precepto era pedir perdón por dañar a terceros y haberme bloqueado de tu perfiles en línea.
I dreamt about you, again.
Maybe because you’re on my mind. It’s your birthday today. I dream that I go to your place to pick up my stuff; I’m sure I left some things I would have liked to keep. I don’t know if you burnt them, voodood them, threw them away or buried them in a secret box that some archaeologist will find 3000 years from now. I also dream that you tell me what’s up with your life, because I don’t know anything about you anymore.
Sometimes, among common friends, someone tells me about you; I wish I could say I’m stalking you but I’m hella blocked from all your social networks. I never knew why. Perhaps your ex forced you to it, the one who turned into a Buddhist and sent me a message (after you broke up, obviously) to tell me that she had become a Buddhist and one of her precepts was to apologize to everyone she had harmed and for blocking me from your online profiles.
But don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t mean I’m dying to see you, nor that I think about you all the time. It’s more like, now that I live in another country, people ask me to which other places I have traveled; I tell them the first time I came to Europe was with you, and that we traveled across the UK, and that we took a boat in Loch Ness, and I had a super badass pic with Nessie, just Nessie and I, you weren’t there, but you deleted it anyway (or maybe your Buddhist ex did it). I don’t suffer because you’re gone, but because you threw away memories that were mine; back then, only you had a digital camera, so I don’t have any pictures of the trip, except from that shitty picture that I took with my VGA cellphone camera when we went to Stonehenge.
It doesn’t mean that I hate you either, nor that I wish you were having a terrible time. I don’t forget that we were friends before we were together. I also don’t forget that one time you gave me your old Britney records for Christmas, which I still have, not because you gave them to me, but because Britney is a goddess. I do keep presents you gave me, from when we were friends and more than that, because you gave them to me and I think it’s childish to get rid off completely of all memories from a relationship that didn’t start nor end wrong. It had its closure as it deserved it (unlike the exes of my friends, who do deserve total destruction –in which I had gladly partaken).
Maybe that’s why I dream about you. Because I never understood why you completely disappeared from my life. After almost four years together, and six years apart, I’m sure you know I like to gossip about and question everything, and I want to know what people think, regardless of who they are. That’s why sometimes I wonder if you feel like talking to me and tell me how you’re doing.
Maybe you have nothing left to say.
Cuando Angélica va de camino por un té y no tiene nada con qué escribir o está a punto de quedarse dormida, se le ocurren las mejores ideas. Más sobre ella.