pixelated.me

 

I keep in the pockets of my brain the names and faces of the people that have shaped me. The girls that wounded me, loved me, broke me and made me. I have note after note stuffed into the corners of me filled with their inner thoughts, the secrets, the truths revealed in moments of intimacy.

I keep them, these dreams, hopes, desires, fears. I look at them sometimes and feel the palpable cruelness of irony. These girls, with their frailties and broken parts who dashed in and out of my life but left so many snapshoted  pieces of themselves with me. 

Today they live in different cities of the world. They love there and laugh there and share their newest secrets with different men, every one of them feeling like the spanish conquistador glimpsing the new world for the first time. 

They discover the way her body quivers when she comes, that odd syncopated laughter, that quiet desire to be completely dominated, the fears born from the marks of her childhood. 
and yet,
and yet i once knew them too. I once felt the discovery of them. 

In the most naive corners of my heart i still surprises me not to know them today after having known them so...intimately.