He lay there, on the bed, static, looking at the letter. The only movement in his body was that of his dark eyes rolling from side to side with the flow of words. He read them one by one, once, twice, as many times as necessary, because as sentences unraveled, the sick familiarity of the message was beyond his comprehension.

Words that had belonged to him, expressions that had once carried profound meaning, flowed inanely through each line. The intimate, flirtatious compliments; the recollections of past memories, the special nicknames, the declaration of a unique love… They had all been said before, and yet, they were not for him. What had been special once was being prostituted, corrupted, and used.

Had he been standing, his body would have fallen to pieces one by one. Shattered. Broken. First his knees would have faltered and tumbled to the ground taking along his pride; then his back would have abated, no more strength, no more support, no more sustain; finally, his upper body would have let out a soft cry under his breath, falling over to the ground as the immense weight of the betrayed love he carried under his chest weighted on him. But no movement occurred. He was frozen. Motionless.

Stuck in an instant, staring into space as he recalled in his mind moments he had shared with the woman of his dreams. Their beauty, the bright colors of those recollections, were being tarnished as the deceiving words resonated over them. Still beautiful, they had lost their vivid innocence. Colors had turned a shade of grey.

Betrayal. Disbelief. Sadness. Disappointment. Anger. Impotence. Jealousy. Denial. Obsession. Love. Hate. Love. Hate. Love. Hate? Love… The war of emotions unraveled within, fighting around his navel, tying his insides in a tight knot. The revolting feelings made him feel animal, irrational. He felt like throwing up.

Things began to fly across the room, walls were punched, pictures were torn down from the walls, mirrors were broken, muted yells resonated on the thin glass of the windows. Yet, the destruction occurred within his mind, as he still remained there, unable to move, on his bed. Stuck in the intact room, staring into space with the stolen letter by his side.

Unable to find rest and sleep, he looked at the ceiling for hours into the new day. Nothing had been true. She had never been his. She had never even known his name. Still, he mourned silently, not for what had not occurred, but for that which never would. Fixed, as the death of an illusion is a pain beyond tears.

Eventually, the grief within took away the last shreds of energy he had, leaving him unconscious, stuck in a restless nightmare, as the time for dreams was long gone.

Photo by gnato

Vivir es sensorial. Una recolección de momentos que provocan reacciones en nuestro ser. Experiencias. Percepciones. Estímulos. Apelamos a los sentidos para poder interactuar con un mundo lleno de colores, texturas, ruidos, olores y sabores. Y así, sentir.

Y la vida nos sabe. Porque más allá de las diferentes cocinas, podemos experimentar los sabores en los instantes, los sinsabores de la ausencia, el deleite de la satisfacción, y los disgustos de la adversidad. Disfrutamos entonces, los sabores de la experiencia.

Hay momentos en los que la vida nos deja un sabor agrio, rancio, y acedo en la boca. Donde el paladar refleja las frustraciones y disgustos con el mundo exterior impregnándose de desilusión. Amargura. También, existen esos momentos dulces, sabor canela, suaves y completamente placenteros. El sabor dulce de la felicidad, de la plenitud.

Pero hay sabores particulares. Sabores que resultan de la circunstancia. De experimentar dos situaciones a la vez. Sabores opuestos que pareciera impensable combinar. Agrio. Dulce. Agridulce.

Y así me sabe la vida en estos momentos.

Dulce. Con la miel que proviene de vivir un sueño, con los granos de azúcar que se han ido añadiendo uno a uno con cada logro y cada sentimiento de satisfacción, con la textura suave que sólo resulta de la paciente mezcla de ingredientes que tomó tiempo preparar pero dio resultados.

Agria. Con el rico sabor cítrico, lleno de la frescura inyectada a mi vida gracias a una chica inolvidable. Pero también con una pizca de amargura proveniente de los errores en la preparación, acidez que emana de la nostalgia de haberla perdido, de terminar una etapa, y también de terminar el sueño que costó un amor.

Así, sabores extremos en unidad. Encontrados.

Me he dado cuenta que los opuestos son entes distintos pero no distantes. Diferentes, pero en ningún momento contradictorios. Siendo complementos se vuelven compatibles. Creando balance, equilibrio. Partes distintas de un mismo ser.

Y mientras recupero el propio balance perdido… la vida y su gran ironía, me sirven salsa agridulce en el comedor (con todo y comida china) para recordar lo mucho que se puede disfrutar de los extremos en armonía.

Photo by ~H34D5H077