A Never Written Letter

Dear Cristina

I just saw you passing by, through the window, fast, faster, the train was speeding up from the underground station and all of a sudden I'm quite sure it was you walking your way to the exit,

your face didn't change, or maybe it did, but the expression it carried, that gaze in your eyes, your hips, balancing as a dance embodying a particular message, in a perspective, unknown, the shoes tapping in that exotic frequency

all that made me realize I could still be holding your hand, next to you, taking the escalator, inhaling the same air, same speed, time, direction, we could be going out for dinner, say that Chinese would do fine – remember how I licked, your chilli fingers chilled out, so sweet. The sky is blue, the night would be starry, we would go out and drink while the music would invite us for a dance.

But this train is sealed, only moves forward and I am inside, holding a ticket in my pocket and your memory pulsating under my shirt. Your phone changed, so I'm betting on your flat, the one with a view, to the river, where the city vanished each time we made love and more.

Hope this letter makes you dream, of us; and believe me, I do!

Eduardo.