The past, the present, the future: one road.

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This is the past, the present, the future.

This is me infront of you, again.

The way back to you, back to me, back to us, is just that, a road.

This is the past, the present, the future

the future?

Maybe, could be, who knows?

And the road looks normal, the floor looks just like any other.

But we already broke it once,

But some parts are as fragile as paper.

Some parts are thin ice.


What if i miss a step, or you do?

We both drown or we both live.

What’s worth the risk? What isn’t?


The future?

Only if you give the right steps.

But what’s right?


Is a joke, a trick, a magic act.

So i’m laughing. And i hope you are laughing too.

Safe steps? Safe landings?

A joke!

This is life, is all thin ice…

The man who won’t talk to me.

lulaavila bikini

He won’t talk to me because i won’t talk to him.

We’re doing it again.


There was a reason when i was 15, another when i was 18, small ones, big ones. Some go on for years, some only for hours. Some were broken only by funerals or weddings, some were my fault, some his, some i forgot, some still hurt.

Everything gets more dramatic by the fact that i hate talking, and he hates talking.


He sits down for dinner at 8, alone.

I sit down for dinner at 8, alone.

But are we ever alone, really?


The man who won’t talk to me was there during huracans, storms, earthquakes, hospitals, break-ups, 

He never said a word, but he was always there in the middle, like a tall, dark haired ghost in a trench coat.


The man who won’t talk to me has no mouth but the most important things need no words.


And we now sit on the same white room on oppossite sides of the bench and we have no idea what to say.

-The weather? fine.

And we play with our hands, with our hair, we stare at the walls, at our phones.

-My kid? She’s doing great, she’s amazing. But i fucked up again, i need help.

-No problem.


I turn my head so he doesn’t see i’m about to cry, but he’s not staring anyway.

His head is also turned the other way.


The man who won’t talk to me never said a word, but he taught me everything.

Everything is windows.



It was 7 different windows this past year.


How many more countries will i run to, then escape?

How many more cities will i adopt then give away?

How many more people will i kiss with an accent?

Will i love with made out love?


The emergency contact on my forms is not real, it’s been too long, i couldn’t remember anyone’s phone.


How many more plans will break apart?

How many more mistakes will turn out to be good?


And my telephone rings less and less, i’ve changed my number too many times, people don’t even know where i am.


How many more languages, strange dishes, beds, drinks, weathers?

How many more boys with strange names?

How many more houses where i don’t even unpack?


How many more windows need to be opened?

Before i finally get that the one closed is me.

The lost and the missing.

lula avila

This is not my picture anymore.

Not my cute donkey, not my mountains, not my sky, not my country.


That girl is not me anymore.

Not my hair, not my jacket, not my boots.

not my boy behind the camera, not my home.

Those things wouldn’t fit my suitcase.

I set them free and they stayed behind.


That girl is not me anymore.

And i try to make sense of the things she said and she wanted, but i can’t.


That girl is not me anymore and i worry about her and wonder where she is.


She was not with me when i took the plane.

She was not around when i landed.

She was not there when i had to take so many steps back it felt like i never started.

She is not here now.


What happened to her?


Did she simply dissapeared?

Is someone else looking for her, or am i the only one who knows?


Did she simply stayed forever trapped in that picture?

On the same windy day in the windy mountains?


Whatever happened to her.

I wish i could talk to her one last time and say goodbye.

I wish i could go back and tie her scarf around her tighter.

Just close her jacket all the way up and warn her…

That the wind is about to blow her away.

I set Tulio’s kitchen on fire.

lula calleja avila


I set Tulio’s kitchen on fire,

But only a tiny, tiny little bit!

It was 4:28 am and, for some reason, drunk me wanted to make coffee.

But the dish towel was too close to the stove and it caught fire.

I tried to extinguish it with a smaller dish towel but that caught fire too.

I gave up and just throwed a pitcher of water at them.


Afterwards i  jumped on top of Tulio and told him i had something.

He was all sleepy and he thought it was sex but i was like no, pal, it’s a fire!

He jumped up all hysterical, and i was screaming “não,não! i turned it off!”

But he was not listening, and started running so i tackled him,

and we fell on the floor, and we started laughing for some, now ununderstandable, reason.

Which led to kissing, which led to us waking up his older brother,

who opened the door of his room, made a noise, and then immediately closed it back

“Seriously guys?  Put some clothes on!”


(Kitchen damage repair R$ 60)


We were drunk the entire relationship.


I also ruined his best sheets.

In my defense he passed out right next to a box of markers…

And writing a poem on his stomach seemed like the best thing ever and i giggled to myself the entire time and i don’t regret it.

We woke up at 8am, his body a black mess, an “e” on my cheek.

and the rest of T.S. Eliot words smothered all over the white sheets

i               you                              rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr          yoooou

carry                        heeeeeeeeeeeeart                                          tt             tt          t

ca                                                         carry ittttttt


in                                                my      yyy    y                                  hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh aart



He put the sheets on the washer, but he didn’t had any clean ones, so we moved over to the couch.

His brother was already having breakfast and only shaked his head. He came over to us and speaking really slowly, and pointing  his index finger at out faces, as if we were a couple of wicked puppies, he said “!”

The couch was not safe.

The sheets remained stained.


(Silk sheets R$ 160)


I don’t think we had much in common, everything he tried to do turned out just…bad..


The third time he asked me out he brought flowers…FLOWERS!

I HATE being given flowers, it’s against my principles. I hate being given a gift that is going to die no matter what. What’s the point really? Hey! Look! This beautiful live being reminded me of you, so i killed it?


(Unwanted dead flowers: about R$ 30, i think)


Then he took me to have dinner at a sea food place.

I can’t stand seafood.


(Restaurant food that remained untouched plus wine R$ 140)


In the middle of the night, still hungry from not having touched the sea food, i made him go out and buy me candy.


(Overpriced Gas Station candy: R$15)


He also tried to impress me and took me to see an artsy old french movie, which, of course, turned out to be the first french movie i had seen with my french ex.


(Tickets to the past plus popcorn: R$ 50)


Everything else was caipirinhas and beers and laughter.

Lots and lots of the three of them.


We were drunk the entire relationship i’m telling you.

So the order of the events, places, parties, drinks, days, words, jokes, and what we really felt for each other, is still a mystery.


(Bunch of drinks and stuff: R$ 200)


I also stole one of his t-shirts, i told him i was taking it home to wash it so i could gave it back to him clean, but i never intented to do it, this shirt now lives a happy life in Mexico, it’s my pyjama now.


(Love white shirt: R$ 30)


We were drunk the entire relationship

and i ruined a lot of his things, and costed him a small fortune.

And he’s not the one i loved the most, or the cutest, or the one i still think about,

but he’s the one, the only one that grabbed my head between his hands the night i was leaving and said:  “Please stay”

And after the year i had, and the real reason i came to Brazil.

It was all i needed to hear from someone, anyone.


He’s not the one i loved the most but he’s the one that tried, the one that called, the one that cared.

He’s the one that held me still when everything else in my life was spinning.

And i’ll owe him forever for that…

He’s not the one i loved the most, but he’s the one i’ll never forget.


We were drunk the entire relationship.

That last night too.

He was drunk on Brahmas.

(5 cans R$ 2.00 each)

And me, better than any beer, hard licor, drug, and also priceless…

I was drunk on him.




© 2013-2014 Lula Avila. All Rights Reserved.
Hello St. Charles #beach #mexico #sonora #latin #paradise #summerneverends #bikinilife #bikini #summerlove #tan #thepowerofred

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