today I asked myself why I don’t think of you. as if it were a duty, as if it were the natural course of things.

I eat, walk, wash myself, get dressed, look in the mirror, fix my hair, put makeup on, wash the dishes, admire the view from the kitchen, pee, shit, have sex. I close my eyes, open my eyes, blink. and in that instant: I think of you.

and I think of you in the other moment, and in the one that will come, and in the one that has passed, and between the blue and the yellow, and here and there, and up and down, between the stripes and the sidewalk, it’s only you in the middle, between those strange moments that taste of your skin.

yet today I didn’t think of you, nor yesterday (if I reflect on it). And maybe not even tomorrow. But I still haven’t figured out if it’s right not to think of you. I wonder: if I stop thinking of you, will you continue to exist in my heart? I have no answer, I only have another moment in which you’re not there, in which you no longer inhabit my mind.