u/Impressive_Dirt7109

I would never feel pity for you,
no matter how wrong it could be,
how hard it is to reach,
or how unusual it may seem.
You would always inspire in me nothing but love
an independent sense of happiness,
just knowing that you exist.
And gratitude that you let me admire you,
worship you, if I could,
like you were probably worshipped
long ago.
Like you will be worshipped
and desired
many years to come.
You are a reason for a hunt.
An honest one.
Where the catching is also pure.
Where your happiness is also assured.
And with your happiness,
and your lust,
and your beautiful hips
that I might never touch,
I will behave.
I will pray
that you are my Siren
in such a large sea

Y después de un enorme sueño, Quetzalcóatl despertó solo en Tollan.

Y cuando bajó al valle, encontró el lago cambiado al punto de ser irreconocible. Y caminó confundido, sin hablar con nadie, aunque reconoció cráneos aún sedientos por la muerte humana y embusteros de largas barbas, llenos de oro. Observó, con dolor, orgullosos ignaros de sus carencias, convertidos en seres horribles de cuerpo y corazón.

Ante la decepción, decidió viajar al cielo para hablar con sus hermanos, pero en la nueva casa, hecha de piedras lisas y columnas combadas, alta en las nubes y siempre nublada, fue sorprendido por los rayos que le hicieron entender que todo había cambiado.
Todos sus hermanos habían desaparecido.

Y entonces Quetzalcóatl reposó a pensar todo lo que sus ojos habían visto, recordando todo lo bueno y lo malo que ya no existía.

Intentó, haciendo quimeras, hacer prevalecer lo que conocía. Pero al hacer quimeras se dio cuenta de que inclusive sus cantos habían cambiado y que, en sus cuartos y sus palacios, vivían ahora, muchos más recuerdos, cuentos y metáforas de los que jamás había imaginado. Y que viviendo en sus templos, los templos lo habían cambiado a él.

Tal vez ya no había un lugar en esa casa para Quetzalcóatl.

No ahora que había perdido la capacidad de hacer un discurso, de proveer una verdad y de brindar una justicia y de no sacrificar al prójimo en vano.

En justicia, jamás pediría eso.

Injusticia y sacrificio inútil.

Y si no había más lugar para él en esa cúspide, en ese palacio, solo su sacrificio, su muerte, su desaparición, sería el único regalo que podría hacer a su pueblo que tanto lo amó.

Y desde lo alto de la montaña, Quetzalcóatl se disponía a arrojarse no al vacío, sino a la tierra hecha tzompantli, tapizada con cráneos que reposaban con una sola moneda en el ojo.

Él llevaría desde arriba las monedas faltantes con su caída.

Pero un segundo antes de saltar, de entre las nubes, un ser con alas en las piernas se presentó como Eolo y anunció a Quetzalcóatl:

—Tu sacrificio no dejará de ser una casa abandonada si no aceptas tus castigos y los castigos de tu familia.

I have no doubt that, in another dimension,
in the imagination of a parallel universe,
we are together in a small, beautiful white house,
with a tiny pretty café up front,
where I kiss your cheeks while you place croissants on a tray, back door.

There, you always feel confident wearing short sleeves,
often meeting my eyes on a quiet glimpse,
or perhaps revealing me your naughtiest dreams.
It is the perfect agreement:
to live without shame.

That is where I imagine myself
in that beautiful little town,
perfectly flat,
entirely rustic,
and endlessly kind
every time we go for a walk.
There, everything is perfect,
and everything is good
Because you walk with me.

And that is what is so noble about imaginative thoughts.
If I cannot share a life with you in this one,
And I cant assure I will in the next.

Somewhere, in another dimension,
Of a parallel universe
there is a chance.
There is a way.

Where we loved each other,
in exactly the same place.

It is to you, and no one else, that I could write these frantic words of love and passion. Never desperate, but bridged to my inner core. Always lingering.

It is only your two fingers that I want to kiss, only your mouth. Only you to rest my head among all your dunes, looking for shade from the strongest sun, searching for a fresh drop of moisture in your softest sand.

It is only for you that I will be a worshiper, both arms extended to the ground, praying for the rain of your words upon me. And through the prayer of the infinite love I have for you, and for your blue eyes,
the feeling transcends itself, and anything I could ever write to you. Even if you never read these words from me. And explode. Even if never get to hug you with all my heart.

And, in a quiet, simple magic trick, this love has transcended to you, and to you alone, who has stumbled upon these final words of a wrecked ship.

Dear Reader, I love you.
By the complicated corridors,
and all the magic doors
that lead me to you.

Until another magic door leads to her.

Maybe I’m American.

Mexican American or American Mexican?
Maybe I am Argentinian Mexican American.
Or Colombian.
Colombian Mexican American, twice Brazilian, somehow; Peruvian, looking at thousands of American mountains on Guatemalan American or Belizean volcanoes that start in the American Cuba.

I thought of this in Canadian American Mexican Panamanian Alaska, next to our worst fear, the tail of our only friend. The source of all of us in the Americas, our fathers and mothers. Brother and sister.

And I thought of this again in Venezuelan Paraguayan American Chilean and Argentinian Tierra del Fuego. That those contested little islands maybe belong to us. Or maybe Belong to them. If it’s about belonging, I feel I belong everywhere. And maybe everything belongs to me.

In the end I Belong to the Americas. Mostly if im standing on it. Or if I return to its deepest roots.

So I don’t know, what am I?
You tell me where I am from.

I noticed I don’t write to you much more, perhaps because I don’t have to win your heart. As much as I did win your heart, and you did win mine.

I noticed you don’t write me much more now.
But if we did. Still. Write each other much more now. We would be chanting success, love, and freedom.

Because I love you, and you love me.

And that is perfect writing, my dear

So I will always try to stay gentle and good,
and that won’t prevent me from closing my eyes and always imagining you.

I will keep my nails tidy and my house clean. I will be resourceful by all means. And that deep look of your blue eyes I’ll carry, secretly and relentlessly, within.

And I know I would not matter. I don’t even carry a name or pay for the game. I’m just forever enchanted by your beauty, and delighted by your quirks.

Perhaps I’ll write you a thousand letters or dedicate to you a thousand hymns. There is a chance that you only care if I attach a thousand bills to your nylon silks. It won’t matter as long as you’re fulfilled.

Maybe, after all is said and done—after the cycle is closed and all ships raise, and know where to go—

I will try, by all my means, to dock close to you, and perhaps you will remember my name.

As much as I care for yours.

To Vivian

Of course I will care more
if you decide to get naked.
Not that I don’t care for you
with clothing. In that matter,
I hope you remain cozy and warm.
Comfy and noticeable,
if you happen to want to be
noticeable.
Like you were noticeable to me.

Of course I will care for you,
well attended, entertained,
growing and well fed,
with all those bolts tightened.
I can’t bring myself to stop asking
the whole universe, and all its glories,
for the best and merriest for you.
But also all the basics.

And the simplest.

be Naked and well Loved.

We are the lucky ones, blessed to gaze upon you with admiration. We truly are.

And yet, moved by an unstoppable feeling of love, this humble peasant wishes you had never given us the chance to admire you as we do.

Love sometimes speaks of protection, love sometimes speaks the truth about the future:
Were we care about what is out there,
For the others

Always wishing only the best for you, I can only hope that you never look back with regret at the private life you sacrificed.

A sacrifice that made me care for you

Never have I ever thought you were
artificially generated.
But that doesn’t mean
I don’t think
you are unreal—
unbelievably beautiful.