Lost On Cloud Seven And ¾

Hey! Who are you?

― I'm your new Muse. I've been waiting for you.

I didn't recognize you, you look so different.

Not that I don't appreciate your new city-style, but...

But it doesn't show your body as much as your yoga clothes do. I must confess I'm attracted to visual impetuses. Aren't all men the same? I mean not boring but visual; compared to women who are more... cerebral – not to say mental and risk a slap or two for that.

― Are you just one of those dirty old man, then?

Oh no. Discovering a person through her words or his mind at work is more exciting to me than flashing flesh, for my pleasure lasts longer in conversations – even in cold weather or water – than with body exposition.

― Just don't bore me to tears.

I won't. I want to make sure we're on the same wavelength. I am engaging in a conversation, not trying to get you naked for a peep show. Where have you been? I missed you. I couldn't find you anywhere. I thought I'd better put an ad in the paper for another Muse. And guess what? I got three answers. They were all from men.

― I can't believe it.

I'm telling you the truth. Had you read my journal or my mind, you would have known already. It doesn't matter now. Do you want me to bring you a glass of something? No, ok. Where was I? Oh yes. So I thought I'd lost you, I was ready to return to normalcy and a regular week schedule. But you're here and I'm very happy. The only thing is that I have to share myself and my time with you, I am not capable to invest all of it and of myself with you. By capable, I mean able. By invest, I mean devote.

― So why didn't you say it in the first place?

Ok, let me rephrase. The only thing is that I cannot devote myself and all my time to you. I can only share so much of my "normal life," you know, like... No, of course you don't know what's a normal life. You're a Muse, it's obvious. And yet, you are so human, so feminine, so attractive, so sexy, so smart and so cute in that wool top and that pleated skirt.

― Really? Thank you. You look kind of cute yourself, specially your butt. Hasn't anyone told you before you had a nice ass?

I do not pay attention to compliments and it is rare that I make any – therefore that was a compliment to you. But you know that, you do not respond to the obvious, you do not delve into arguments or long debates of intentions. Like a shrink you study me and you know more about me than I about you. And yet I feel like I've known you my entire life.

― Of course. You created me.

But you're here with me! Does that mean everything is true? You're for real? Or do you live in a parallel time and space? Are you in my InterZone only? Too many questions, right? Oops, another one. Ok. So, what's the weather like where you come live? Darn, another one. Please, don't leave!

I guess I can't even ask you to marry me, hey? Not that I will or won't, I'm only joking. You see, I'm not from here, and I don't even know if you understand me. Perhaps you are also a stranger in this land; your eyes are melancholic, or nostalgic. I can decipher the same sadness in my heart at times, when I reflect on my past, on my country. And so I can tell of the spell you do not try to... dispel because it is a part of you that has stayed behind, in time and space. As it was for me, and yet I am happy to be who I am here and now. I suppose because this is what counts, right? Otherwise, what does one have to get up in the morning and smile first?

You do not respond. You are waiting for something to happen, or maybe for nothing. I cannot tell if you wish for or dream about someone. If I were allowed to pose a question I'd ask, Do you have a Muse too? Is he a she or is she a he? Does it matter? Who's the bearded man I saw you with? Am I jealous? Are you kidding? Is he your father, brother, lover, accountant, or your divorce lawyer? You see, I am trying to get to know you better. Ok, the American way, I've been living here for so long that I do ask What do you do sometimes, instead of How do you do; I do not kiss nor hug people anymore, specially men; I keep my hands and elbows at a distance from the person eating next to me. I know it does make sense to them, and so I oblige them. But with you, I feel like circling your shoulders or your waist with my arm. I feel like kissing your eyelids and running my fingers to untangle your hair and push it aside your eyes. I'd lean over and closer as to tell you a secret and then I'd ask in the hollow of your ear, Did you see that bird of paradise flying in the rainbow? (If I were allowed another question, that is.) I would adjust the collar of your shirt while looking straight in your eyes and ask permission to ask you a personal question.

You'd nod, daring. And I'd want to know if you are... left-handed.

You'd tilt your head, still daring. And you'd say, "Not for everything."

I'd nod, daring, and I'd say something foolish like, "Beer or wine for dinner?"

But I know that you know that I know you'd say "Both." And I'd say, "Both hands?"

And you'd say, "Yes, to hold my beer." And you'd kiss my nose, saying, "So cute!"

And I'd swallow hard at the heat of your body so close, so close that I'd be able to smell your scent.

We'd know that. The same spicy taste would invade the back of our tongue, breathing would be difficult for a while. We'd walk side by side to the streetcar stop like zombies, knowing perfectly that once there we'd talk nervously about something that has nothing to do with the weather or the IRS. We'd speak at the same time and loudly. And a big black mama waiting in the shade would laugh her heart out, "You two better get a room right now!" Didn't we see our hands and lips on each other? Don't we know we're standing in between the tracks? "I mean right now!" Can't we hear the approaching monster and the fierce ringing of its bell? Why don't we feel the rain and the warm wind?