Paella
There was the stray white cat that we fed paella to. For point of reference, we had to give it a nickname but could not agree on anything.
I wanted to go to the bull fights, but you were scared.
Late at night we lay in bed listening to the boy down in the courtyard practice all the sad songs on guitar. You asked me to tell you a secret and it was then that I understood you better.
Carmen
My lips still felt the heat of her kisses and tasted the lingering salt of our combined sweat.
I pulled the covers down, exposing my torso. The places that had already dried felt strange as the breath of the fan hit them. It was as if I were feeling life through small barriers of shed skin.
Carmen got up to use the toilet. I lay there with my hands clasped behind my head too lazy to pull the covers up despite now being cold.
She stood, a silhouette in the doorframe, the light which managed to squeeze past her producing a flatter twin upon the floor.
I knew that she wanted me to say it, but I was not in the mood.
She would not move from her spot until I did. There was no way to win this battle of the wills as were I to opt to just drowse, then when she got back into bed it would wake me.
I lifted my head up:
“Que hora es?”
She did a little clap and got back into bed. I had not changed my position, so she rested her head against my shoulder. I could feel her smile.
The last words of Billy the Kid.
- Wayne H. W Wolfson 2019
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