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 “Not.on.my.couch!”

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.

 

 

 

São Paulo a (sorta) love story and 5 umbrellas.

This is were i was born:

yeah… a desert in the north of Mexico: sunny, hot and rainless.

And this is where i have been living for the last couple of months: lulaavila

Why the change? I have no idea what happened, but i loved it.

This is São Paulo. Have you ever been here? No? Let me explain the city to you, what it was to me anyway…

São Paulo is buildings, one after another, and another, is people, is noise, buses, cars, lights, helicopters, making a line to the metro, making a line to buy coffe, making a line to make a line, ambulances, smells, food,… São Paulo, honest to God, never sleeps.

Now, now, let me tell you something… to the outsider it can look like this city is owned by the people in suits, or by the cars, or by all those buildings blocking the views.

But, you know, they got the main character wrong. The owner of this city is the rain. She owns everything. And she does whatever the fuck she wants.

Super sunny day? Nope!

She makes even the best dressed of people run, she makes all those thousands of cars get paralized for hours, she makes people get cold and hug.

Summer, winter, hot, cold, anytime, anywhere, your wedding day? Whatever! Sao Paulo rain doesn’t care! move over, she’ll fall.

She makes people who live here carry an umbrella as religiously as their cellphones. Just look at them, you’ll see, average person owns 2. Amateurs like me own 5, because i kept forgetting it and had to get a new one.

Running among all these umbrella people since the day he was born, it’s him. And, i can’t tell you exactly what it is, maybe it was breathing too much of that Paulista air, maybe he fell off his bike in Ibirapuera when he was a kid, hit his head too hard and now he has a piece of Ibirapuera on his brain, maybe it was just his genes, i have no idea, but, this guy, this guy is exactly São Paulo, i swear, he’s this city.

He’s loud, and shinny, and happy, so much it kind of annoys me, but i can’t help wanting to be near him.

He’s the kind of person that is everywhere, you know what i mean? You let him loose on a room and he’ll just go everywhere, he’ll talk to everyone, he’ll knew what everyone was talking about, you’ll be giving him your back and suddenly he’ll moon walk his way back into you.

On the bad side he always have somewhere else to go. They are runners, city people, as i told you. I’ts hard to keep up.

They don’t stop moving and you never know where they are going to appear or what they are going to do next.

Like i found him on this party on the street this one time, and i haven’t seen him in a while and the place was packed but at that moment, when i turned, there was absolutely no one between us, and i swear it was like a super romantic movie moment, i could even hear soft music, and he walked over to me, and i expected he was going to say something completely romantic, and the music was totally getting louder, and louder, and my heart stopped, and he reached me… and he said… he said “i’ve been wearing this same hat for 12 days”.

But he also say nice things when i was not expecting it, and he let me had the pillow when we only had one, and he also forgave me for biting him that one time even though, i have to admit, it was a pretty big bite.

Also, this night, he went really out of his way to show me this bridge, when we were already late. Because he said it was famous and i couldn’t miss it, and it had pretty lights, and i thought that was really sweet.  Now i don’t even remember the bridge at all… All i can remember is his face and his accent while he was talking and talking about it and about the river under it (forgot the name of the river too). And i don’t even remember looking at the bridge because i was just thinking “God! Just shut up and kiss me!”     (Sorry kid!!)

But he would be perfect, and then just dissapear.

He’s the kind of person you can’t control, can’t predict and, of course, can’t keep…

But big cities are fascinating to watch, even when they are not yours, even if you don’t know how long you are going to stay with them…

So it’s a good thing i already loved São Paulo

and i already own 5 umbrellas.

Because he is rain…

lula avila.com

Thiago, or the boy i haven’t told you about…

Image

SHHHHHH!!

Don’t make noise!!

Can’t you see?

He’s sleeping

Right here, next to me.

Wait, wait, i’ll get up.

 

Now, come on in, come on in, please,

Don’t stay at the door.

I can hear you better if you are inside.

 

Please excuse the fact that i’m wearing a sheet, i have no idea where my clothes ended up.

My skirt might be on top of the stove, might.

My blouse is underneath him, so it’s lost until tomorrow.

We also can’t turn on the lights, sorry, he’s a very light sleeper, i’ve learned that.

So imagine the things you can’t see…

 

This is his room,

The walls are white, the furniture brown, the smell is clean.

It feels like it’s mine too sometimes, but it isn’t.

 

This is his closet, with all his clothes perfectly folded.

Perfectly arranged, by colors, by length, by the way they look on him.

His shirts, by the way they accent his muscles.

His shoes by brand.

The suit he is going to wear tomorrow, extended on the chair.

 

Go to the balcony, look at the view, we are on the 9th floor.

Nice, right? It’s very nice.

Oh, but EVERYTHING in his life is nice.

People congratulate him on his watch, then on me, then on his car.

 

He will hug me if i cuddle next to him, not even opening his eyes, he does it by reflex, i could be anyone.

For me it’s always him, even when it’s not.

That’s our biggest difference.

That’s why i can’t stay.

 

This is his room and this is the last time i see it.

I haven’t told him, i won’t, but i changed my flight, and i’m leaving tomorrow.

This is his room, and it felt like mine so many times, but now that i look around there really is nothing of mine in here to take.

And nothing of mine that stays.

 

This is the last night i see him,

And i have just been staring at him, what’s the point of sleeping anyway?

My dreams for years have been about him…

 

This is the guy i did it for.

If any of you still had any doubt…

Of course there was a boy!

There always is…

All the stupid things, all the mess, all the airplanes, all the travels, all the searching…

They were all about him.

And i’d crossed it again, every single kilometer, that’s the worst part,

It was all worth it.

 

It’s always worth it, chasing love.

Even if once you touch it, it dissapears.

Hey! You touched it!

 

This is the guy i love

And he’s not really asleep.

(I told you he is a light sleeper)

He’s only pretending,

Because he knows all this, but doesn’t want to hear.

 

There is a place for the towels, a place to put the laundry, a place for his golf clubs, and a place for a girl.

They are all easy to fill.

 

This is the room of the guy i love

And i’m going to leave my love in here folded in between his white t-shirts.

Because none of it was ever mine anyway.

 

This is the guy i love.

And this is the day i leave him.

About Amelia and her hunger for a kiss.

 

Image

 

Her need for him started out of nowhere, just like that, out of nothing.

One day she woke up and it was there, like a gray hair you hadn’t noticed before.

Out of nothing.

Out of watching him out of the corner of her eye.

Like an specific hunger for an specific cake, for THAT muffin from THAT place.

Like an impossible craving at midnight in a house with no food.

Her hunger for him was born and started growing.

And speaking, and demanding, and waking her up in the middle of the night.

The hunger was single, but she was married, and so was he.

 

Hunger, like all things alive, wanted to live.

She learned the human language:

“Next to him, closer to him, touch him, his hand, his face, his leg, go on, go on, keep going…

He’s getting it now.

Don’t stop!”

 

And hunger got so big it swallowed both of them.

Two puppets playing a part they hadn’t rehearsed before.

Two puppets improvising.

Did i liked it?

Did i REALLY wanted it?

Anyone saw?

Will he read it on my face?

 

Hunger, once satisfied, leaves.

And human beings are left alone.

They go back to the address in their credit cards,

Their nice houses, with a smiling partner warm inside.

And they kiss them with closed mouths.

Then lie down in the same bed as always, but they no longer fit.

Now full with a sea of voids, and questions, and feelings.

And a hunger, hunger, hunger.

For the way things were before…

© 2013-2014 Lula Avila. All Rights Reserved.
Cabello loco total #longhair #brunette #pretty #hair

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 2,455 other followers

Follow No, wait, it's not my story, it's theirs.. on WordPress.com

Visitors

  • 7,789 have been here, thank you!

Follow me on Twitter

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,455 other followers

%d bloggers like this: