August again

Looking at your smile, I see your eyes of beauty,

Telling something about the sweetness of chocolate.

Chicago in the cold, a souvenir is what it takes for me to return to this same place,

one August afternoon I visited with you all over my mind.

My path was the same, the process, partially the same, but only one thing changed:

you were there with me at this time, non other than you.

Is August again. A beautiful afternoon, a few cities south of that place. Your smile hits me harder than many other afternoons, but this time, only this time, I’m making a thing different. I am passing the image, changing the picture, and combining a few of those amazing moments captured just days before the end of us, and putting it on perspective. You were there, with your amazing smile, and I was there, holding the pieces of what we were. Only one thing remains, only this picture.

In a second rocks stumble on my and I’m looking at myself passing countless images, all leading to you, captured in a moment of a frugal smile. In the depths of your conscience a crude reality was about to blow, but in the surface, only crisped waves advised of what was coming. Me, a dreamer, a wonderer in a land of possibilities, an explorer of patience, that of yours, only waited for the storm to be released, not realizing its potential. Here I am again, sitting in a room fool of memories, on another August.

Someone once said: “Let’s wait until August to see what happens.” That someone is crying it out once again, receiving the weight of boxes of memories, carrying a wait so strenuous that it is piling up on my back, leaving scars, sweat, and dirt all over me. The smile, the eyes, the hugs, crushing all at once over my heart, waiting for an answer that hasn’t come; waiting. And again I look back and see us standing on glass, a city underneath, about to fall, on the best day of the year. Where was I that I didn't see it coming? Perhaps, sleeping in your arms, waiting for you to wake up from the floor of a train station at one in the morning? Was I still in the ship sailing to a paradise island, faking cave pictures at an old pier with a model on top? I do know where I was. I was, at that particular moment, gluing down pieces of memories, just as I do now, in the 110^th floor of a tower. I have never been a clean gluer, but I have spent years doing it, night after night, after night. And today is one of those nights.

Involved in a night of reflections, watching ourselves in a giant cloud, we were once again smiling.

Comparing voices, smiles, situations, and places, what we didn’t do? Invincible is not our word, but it could generate a motto for a new chapter. I hear laughs coming out of the walls, a soft shade coming through a window, a ton of moments passing through my eyes, and softly, gently, magnificently sited you; your eyes half opened, your smile always in its place. Not a tear, not a breath, nothing could change it. Month after month a push towards freedom has been missed; would this be the month it wins its adepts? Maybe.

I have to get up, I have to leave and stop looking at it; but how? It is just there, inviting me to see it again, to live that end of the summer of traditions. August again. How heavy are you always.