El Baile De La Reservada

Movement, radiance, and possession of natural beauty: inherent confession of your being. But you lie. You lie to me, you lie to them; and most distressing: you lie to yourself. You continue with the charade.

¿Artisa? You’re doing it again. You’re taking on too much. We’ve had this conversation. I told you that life will slow you down. But it wasn’t the drinking and driving was it? No, not that.

In some perverse manifestation of understanding I get ‘us’ more. I look back at ‘the signs’. I’ve been reading them with my heart, blinded by reality of life. Neither one of us cared to translate.

Take me with you? Not you! You couldn’t bare the thought of opening yourself up, allowing someone to hurt with you. ‘I don’t like you worrying about me, Mar-LA.’ Isn’t that what you said to me? Every time we spoke I think. Funny. I’m not going anywhere. All I can do is respect your privacy. Let you deal with ‘this’ in your own way.

I’ll give you space. But you know damn well that my interpretation of privacy is meddling. I won’t leave you alone. Selfish? I emailed you about being selfish, didn’t I?

Don’t worry about these postings. I’ll allow you your shadow. You can hide from life for as long as you like. I'll live with you through masquerade: El Baile De La Reservada.