de la luna y los libros y los besos

a veces te reís y yo quiero decirte 'nada, sos muy lindo' cuando me preguntás por qué te miro así, que me distraigo de lo que leo. o de todo, sí, mejor de todo me distraigo. afortunadamente, porque ya no quería pensar más en lo otro; ni en aquello. quizás era hora de cambiar el naranja por el rojo y los besos casi siempre antes son sonrisas, por eso me río y te miro. bah, lo imagino, sé que me río y te digo 'nada, sos muy lindo', antes de seguir leyendo eso que vos me dijiste que lea, después de distraerme un poco con la luna y poco con tu sonrisa

Timing is the answer to success

Intentaba sacarte una sonrisa aunque poca idea tenía de lo que podía pasar. Quería asombrarte, hacerte reír, cantarte una canción o salir a caminar, mirar la luna, nada más. Me asombraste vos aunque poca idea tenías de lo que podía pasar. Me dejé llevar. Quizás fuiste vos la canción, no sé, contame más, te quiero escuchar. No me hables de ella o hacelo pero cuando termines te voy a besar. No vas a entender por qué -ahora tampoco lo hacés- pero me vas a mirar y ahí sí te vas a reír. Vamos a caminar, hablame del mundo y de vos, explicame qué pasó, yo te voy a mirar. Fascinada, sin pensarlo, como para que no lo notes. No me voy a dar cuenta pero quizás me muerda un poco el labio y arrugue la nariz y me ría un poco como cuando pienso en vos mientras camino por la ciudad, cuando salgo de la oficina, cuando me voy a tomar el colectivo. Yo intentaba sacarte una sonrisa y me la sacaste vos. Te debo una, te invito una cerveza, vamos a escuchar un rock.

Wednesday

Dear Sir,

I have no way of knowing this letter will reach you, as the distance between us is so very far and so very troublesome. This small piece of stationary must cross mountains and cafeterias, in the trunks of automobiles and in the waterproof pockets of long-distance swimmers, tucked into envelopes and folded into swans, in order to make its way to your small, dusty office on the thirteenth floor of one of the nine drieariest buildings in the city. All I can do is hope for the best, but hoping for the best, like hoping for a bat to obey your orders, almost always leads to dissapointment.

And even if this letter does reach you, I am not sure it will reach the right person. Perharps you are not who I think you are--there are many people, after all, with the same initials as you, just as there is at least one other person with the same initials as me. Perhaps you will also think I am someone else, and will make a suspicious note in the margin, accusing me of being some villainess or other. 

For years I kept quiet, feeling all my words twisting and tangling inside me like skeins of yarn, as I searched desperately for someone who could be of assistance. Now I must untie "My Silence Knot" and write to a man I have necer seen, even if he is not the man for whom I am looking, and even if I am looking in the wrong place for the right man, or the right place for the wrong man, or both or neither, or both both and neither.

From what I was told, I think you may be the only person who can help me. I was told you were a sort of detective--or, at least, I was told that the word "detective" is printed on the door of your office. I was told you keep to yourself and scarcely talk to anyone, and that on the rare occasions when you engage in conversation, you never discuss your past, but can be found occasionally in a library, leafin through the theatrical sections of old newspapers. Nevertheless, I am hoping you will discuss your past with me. I am hoping you will tell me a story that began many years ago, in what I was told is a sort of classroom. I am hoping you are still in your dusty office, and I am hoping that this letter reaches you. In short, I am hoping for the best.

[...]

BB to LS #1, The Beatrice Letters - Lemony Snicket.