The darkest HOUR

                            If we're talking about usefulness, your love isn't a decorative plate.

Nor a mechanical, metallic instrument.

Perhaps a box of surprises.

Perhaps I'm drawn to that unconsciousness of wild instinct, the fear of confrontation and, at the same time, of perishing in agony.

If we're talking about services, your love is a music channel without free advertising.

Sometimes I wrap myself in your words and repeat them endlessly in my head, until I truly feel that I carry you with me, whether I go or not.

If we're talking about need, about silences, about years that I now believe were in vain, years in which nothing happened that could be a passionate and real feeling.

And now, on the edge of the precipice, because, without a doubt, there's no going back.

I don't know what attracts me more to you than the illusion of observing you like a mirage. Sometimes you speak through us, as if we were a couple.

Really? I feel like two strangers, together so we don't make a mistake tonight.

A night that's also slipping away from us.

Karim Quiroga