My words are diluted in my thoughts

My words are diluted in my thoughts//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js

and I am still this
machine
this paper
and all the
etceteras.

No more, no less
The Last Night of the Earth Poems
by Charles Bukowski

I shouldn’t try to be the man that I dream… I shouldn’t dream about the man that I would love to be…I shouldn’t try to become the man that I want to be… I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t try to want who I would like to be…I shouldn’t try to be that man that I would love to be…

One after the other, with a fading effect in my voice, my words are diluted in my thoughts. That is me, stepping in my flat after a long day at work. Many things in my to-do list that I have marked as done, though. That last thought sketches a slight smile upon my face.

Let’s see, what do we have for dinner? Oh, yeah! There should be at least one piece of chicken breast ready to be laid down on rye bread and French mustard. The vinyl is spinning and the Mingus is hitting on my chest. The sunset is just about to begin. I am Le Petit Prince, standing up at the end of the world with a dead cold glass of Scotch in my left hand, and my other hand tenderly rubbing the tail of Mr. Fox who surrounds my neck. The sky drips off in yellow, orange, purple, pink and bang…The Sun walks by my window with a contrabass seized under its arm. Another great gig is happening somewhere and running late to it, definitely, it is not its style.

Clack, clack, clack and more clack… The cutting mat asks for more… Clack, clack… We love each other so much.

I wonder if you are thinking of me whilst I am chopping carrots. Have I told you how much I love your hummus? These carrots and the hummus in the bowl over the table are my last memory of you. I am not asking to know what you would think of me or If you have done it propelled by similar reasons. I am just curious to know about what could still keep us connected. Maybe, I should rephrase the question to myself: Why cooking brings my thoughts back to you?

There is something about cooking that makes it so special. I guess is that intimacy created between each ingredient and my senses. I am confident enough to say that this is the purest ritual of love that I have ever experienced. The only love that does not depend on others, does not have doubts about what is going to happen over the time of being together. And, if something goes wrong then there’s no reason for feeling ashamed or scared to try it once more again.

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