Two-thirds of a mezcal bottle have been drunk trying to mend my broken heart.
Perhaps that is not enough, people tell me to just let go and be alone. Maybe they are right because I find it truly hard to pretend that I am a reliable, normal, complete human being.
Pieces of me, are scattered everywhere, through the world, literally. It is hard to understand how someone can continue to put herself out there... hoping to finally nail it. To get to that moment where you think that all that you fought for and all those sleepless nights were worth something.
Where are you?
Who are you?
Are you alive?
And I can't find you, regardless of how hard I try to connect. They say that love comes along, that you do not have to look for it. Is it true?
I take another sip of mezcal... another sip of truth.
For a moment I do not even feel like writing. I just want to sleep and forget everything. Forget us. Forget all my defeats, all my lost battles, and all the different reasons why I am not worth fighting for.
I am exhausted.
I just want someone to take my hand, literally, and tell me that everything will be fine. I want him to tell me that we will drive this road together. I want to share my life with someone who shares my beliefs and can see beyond my flaws.
At times, I feel that I am only that: flaws.
Maybe one day I will be more than flaws to someone.
I will be flesh and blood. I will be human, I will be real. I will be present.
I just want to be loved, I just need kindness and understanding. Someone who thinks that I make his world better.
Do I make this world better?
And I keep trying to convince myself that heroes do not exist. Not in my life. I am my own hero, I am with me, against all odds. And I say to myself: be strong.
Be strong, Lau. Be strong, baby.
I keep smiling, I keep hoping that God will not leave my side and perhaps one day when I finally die, I will understand why I never found my soulmate.
Soulmates... sound like science fiction to me.
And I see you, faceless soulmate. You are driving our car, to some unknown corner of the world. We are running away from a war, a pandemic, or a bunch of zombies. The world feels like a strange place to inhabit today. I look at you and feel that regardless of what happens, we made it all the way here. And I feel grateful for that ephemeral moment where we are us, in that car, in that road.
And you look back at me and tell me that you love me.
I love you, you say.
Me too, I reply.
I want to fall in love. But it is so fucking hard to embrace that thought when all the versions of you that I meet make me feel not worth fighting for, or as a piece of meat, or not good enough.
I keep siping. I keep pouring. I keep typing. I feel empty. I feel hopeless.
And you are gone. Perhaps you never arrived.
