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her exact words were irrelevant, the power lied in the pauses, the tentative way in which she half-smiled, awaiting an answer. the handful of instants melted in my hand, my words were predictable, the whole thing was predictable, the immensity of my want unbearable.

how do you look at your own weakness in the eye and turn it into something else, anything else; there will be others; there will be no end to that tautness that holds your entire body hostage, that will make sure memory betrays what little you'll be able to hold on to when it is all over and you are on your way to that place that looks like home, but will never even get close to that calmness that washes over you in her presence, regardless of the actual distance; you will remember it, and it will haunt you in such a way so as to spend whatever it is that you need to provide her for a reason to answer again.

¿cuántas veces ensayaste el momento?
¿cómo es posible que no lo puedas evitar?
¿con cuál de todos tus sueños lograrás la ablación de rigor?

facing a dream is not unlike facing an abyss, perhaps the real difference being a certain willingness to jump. regardless. because you know that whatever may lie down there, it is accompanied by relief, true relief. and hopefully that other world you've always suspected existed somewhere else. in the end, you make peace with the fact that you are willing to do anything, anything for another chance.

how could you not?