telephone conversation

it's her. electricity pulse through my veins for a second.
¨hi¨. confidence in my voice. gladness. indifference.
[i should have done this long ago. to share my thoughts, even if it's just with the anonymity of that magic monster called the internet. after all we were born of this fountain of connectedness. But my emails to her have been my diary for a year and a half. and now i no longer feel like sharing myself with her. what's the use.]

We talk and THANK DOG the line is clear this time.
There have been so many interruptions in our communication: wrong numbers, two-minute conversations cut short by unco-operative cellphones when my heart was thirsting for her voice. not to mention returned post and denied visas from the Arrogant States of America. now that i think about it, it's a miracle we have come this far.

for a few minutes at the start of our conversation i am myself and she's my close friend. then we get to the laundromat of our feelings - when is she coming. i didn't steer the conversation here. she did, by asking about the future, about dates. but i want to clear this up, and we talk for ten minutes about dates. i'm in love with her but i have to talk about stupid dates. what we are really talking about is my expectations, my hopeless dreams and her resistance, or is that indifference, to coming. to me. i really have no clue what she feels.

¨why haven't you come yet?¨ she gets excited. her words approach 'island speed' and i feel her blood pressure rising as i lose my confidence. all she's telling me is excuses and i hate excuses. Dammit, tell me the truth. why pretend you would like to come when i can hear the 'buts' coming like trucks before you even say them. god fucking dammit.

we end in silences..silencios huecos? a stalemate like always and i the loser, or so it feels. i have nothing to convince her but my 'rare' self. what a fragile trade if there's no cultural missives, no monetary status or familial reasons for coming together. yes sex, that lowely and sacred beast is my only other ally in this. but not for her it seems. a double edge sword then. The wise old bushmen women from africa say men's semen would kill them if there were no women. a dangerous sword. i hope to god they're wrong.

we talk for a long time after. apparently of a personal nature, but to me it feels more like a condemned man talking to his jailer about his kids and the things he loves before he faces the unknown. we talk mostly about her. she rarely asks anything about me except how long i plan to stay. i guess that is partly my fault, with me aiming my camera of longing on her before she disappears or i kill her in my mind. that is exactly what i've been trying to do the last few weeks - to hate her. i hate myself for doing that. plus i have no idea if it's not just achieving the opposite. the mind is a strange place closer to salvador dali than b.f. skinner.

on the phone time gathers up our moments. our silences grow and my feeble attemps at conversation become more desperate. i could say bye, but the masochist in me is waiting for her to do just that. let her her do what she surely wants to. to end her tension, her guilt, her problem. i'm weak now.

the internet can be a curse. we have met and talked on the phone, but mostly we have communicated through email. we have told each other we are in love, but yet we rarely use each other's names. I say her name before we hang up. she laughs. i should tell her i love her, but i'm just sad.

why don't we just end it? but she wouldn't want that and i'm unable to. she's not like me. not a free agent. a man who doesn't care about christmas. a man with no god, or at least a human gods, and in rebellion against the Others. i long for purity and she's perfectly willing to play the gray game of life.

¨we must have a story with a happy ending,¨ Shakira pleads on the radio. and that's what i want too. not to live a sad life. despite the fact that i hate contrived movies with happy endings. so much for consistency.

i don't want to be obssessed with love, or with her. i just want to be myself. I want to inspire her and create - every day. not five days a year. I want someone to feel about me like i feel about her. i wish they could develop a search enjine to find such love. Very funny and impossible.