I remember when we used to play…
streets were puddles spitting gravel
at our skins,
it hurt
but riding a bike,
speeding up,
falling,
and then standing up
with a bleeding knee
aching for a drizzle of alcohol,
for an antiseptic
to disinfect
the injury,

hurt,

it hurt good,

so good,
that the injury healed faster,
And the following days,
we were up again playing,
riding the bike, skating,
jumping,
feeling the streets
splashing gravel at our skins,
as if the ache was bearable
just because
you were there
just because
I was there
with you
with me

enduring the pain
not caring about the gravel
not caring about streets
just caring about you and me.

 

 

So why can’t we do the same again?

 

why can’t we pretend
that those mangy dogs we stumbled upon
were streets
spitting gravel at our beings?

 

Why can’t we do the same again?

 

 

ride a bike, speed up,
fall, then stand up
with an bleeding heart
aching for a drizzle of alcohol,
for an antiseptic of our voice
to disinfect the injury
that those dogs
who chased us and caught us
caused in us?

Why can’t we

stand up… ?

 

 

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