A small song was staring at his face; the table clock ticking … He could feel fresh blood dripping from his lips; a contorted stanza echoed in the distance. Loud, pounding sounds crashing the evening detachments. He couldn’t see through the veneer of smiles, and gentle courtesies; prophetic clouds of doom weaving in the horizon. He knew she wasn’t really levity, nor could she be easily found.
A church choir of dissonant voices welcome him in the morning fog; some kind of religious experience, exalted yet self-contained within a vessel of spoken words that meant nothing, an armoire of deep concrete-made moments passing thought his skin.
He spits; looks at the horizon, washes his mouth and tries to articulate a balanced voice. But, could it be that she never meant anything said? Where they ever in such a trance of deep & naked love? Was it possible to hold on to that tonality, the tapestry of his ardent calm and her comforting distance? The cacophony was deafening.
Looking back at the instance of their first meeting, he felt applauded, complimented and overwhelmed. The room was easy manageable, if sparsely occupied, it looked almost like an imaginary stage – one step forward, two steeps backwards. Time slowing down; her constant silence, revealing melancholia.
That moment suggested melodies, rhythms; blending oddities and stories; holding hands over a meal, looking deeply in each other’s eyes. An uncomfortable silence follows; too close? Too far? Too rigid? Too different? She laughed wide; her whole body did; frame by frame; her breathing fading in and out – then, he saw her glowing in the dark, dissolving.
The melody ended, too prematurely. The sudden realization he had been celebrating something that wasn’t fused oddly with something that had been lost long ago. There was nothing left but empty space; a large white screen unfilled, a bland new page.
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© Leo Campos Aldunez
Edmonton, AB (Canada)
Leo Campos Aldunez / Poetry 
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