One of the things I love and hate the most is smoking in my room. Love, at night, when I smoke. Hate, the following morning, when I wake up with a dry throat and the room stinks of dead cigarettes. Fuck, I'm listening to a blues in japanese right now. You can't imagine. Don't know how the hell it ended up inside my iTunes.
Anyway, let's light a cigarette, let's accumulate butts in the ashtray. What an elegant word, ashtray! Wonderful, delicious. Ok, focus. Love and hate. Ying and yang. Do I love you if I never hated you? Does true love exist without hate, without the sking of the morning butts in the ashtray? I guess I can't answer, I never had a smoking girlfriend, though I once loved a girl who smoked.
A lot. I was 14 and she was 16, and I would buy cigarettes to appear more manish to her. You know, the typical teenager story. Her name was Tais: she was a bad girl, I was a good boy. Such a good boy I was at the time! Strangely, her wonderful body was curious about mine, a pile of bones. I guess it was my lips, they've always been meaty and comfy, or maybe it was my greyish eyes, so deep and mature since I was born.
I'm listening to Emigrante by Orishas, thanks to jOjO's recommendation. After a month, Tais got tired of me. I remember the first days of flirting. We were at class and she would turn to glimpse at me and smile. I was too young, what could I answer to that smile? A nod, my head turning to the other side, like a priest that avoids temptation.
Months passed by, and she dissapeared. Some years later, I walked across her, and she turned around again, and smiled. I bought her a drink, and we talked about the good old times. Four hours later we were making love at her bed. Sometimes, I still feel the skin of her breasts in my hands, her body sitting on me, moving with the music of youth. Now it's Compay Segundo, and the rythm of Tais' hips. Qué caderas, mi amor...
The paradox of love and hate is just another lie, like Tais. In the end, we are allmade of sex, including priests, and for sex we live. And probably a little bit of music too, Compay Segundo if possible. Double whisky, please.