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Reservoir Memories

valeria rojas

Seems like we have a sea for sky and gravity has done its job pouring the entire sea into the city. I am standing next to him waiting for the pedestrian sign to allow us to cross the street and I can’t decide if I should run or just let the rain soak me to my bones. As we wait, I gently let go of his hand trying to find warmth in the pockets of my winter jacket. I try not to, but it’s inevitable sometimes to let go of his hand. I know it’s not the right one to hold but it’s the one saving my love.
I keep looking at the other side of the street feeling the water running through my face, Should I run? Sometimes I like to run in an opposite direction from the rain and realize that it doesn’t matter how fast I go, the drops won’t fall faster. Sometimes I like to remain steady in the middle of the rain and realize that it doesn’t matter how static I am, the drops won’t fall slower.
Sometimes memory comes in the form of water.
I see your reflection in the accumulated water puddling in the street. I don’t blink, or move, or breathe. Afraid of losing that imaginary shadow from my sight. I can hear your laugh in the noise of the cars hitting the water on the street, I try to listen to the secrets I know you still have for me. I believe that’s the reason I have unexpected thoughts; I’ll write them down in a notebook with the hope that someday these words will guide me back to you. I look at the red light getting blurry from the fog invading my round-shaped glasses. Maybe when the fog is gone, I’ll see your smile on the other side of the street walking towards me as soon as the traffic light turns to green.
I have learned how to resist running away. I have learned how to open the doors and windows to my heart, keeping your memory alive. I’ve made a home for your name in all the dark holes you left when you put me on the ground and took flight. One day you closed the door of our home and never opened it again. We replaced songs for fights and making love for lonely screams in the middle of the night. I know that pretending to hide our fears under the bed was not working anymore and one of us had to leave, but I also know I loved your way of moving through life and you loved moving through life with me.
My skin has absorbed the rain falling, my lungs are drowning, and my heart is failing. I have memories for veins that won’t allow my blood to recognize this body. I pray until the weight on my mind settles, and I allow myself to breathe again.
Without losing the other side of the street from my sight, I take my hand out of the pockets of my winter jacket; he gently reaches for my hand, I hold him tight as a way of rooting with reality. I know it’s not the right one to hold but it’s the one saving my love.
“The light has changed now, let’s go,” I say.

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Breathing in Soaking Fire
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