Carta-ficción #36

Dearest,

I’m bathing myself in the sand of your eyes.

Overwhelmed by nothingness. I’m sitting in a bench I

used to know perfectly well. And then walking fast,

faster and faster until I run right into you.

I fall. I fall in love, I'm going to fall into pieces,

I fall, ache afterwards.

Now I’m bathing myself in the coldness of the sea.

It’s soothing and I think I like it.