Geografia de la lengua
I stood for a minute or two without speaking. We exchanged data and coordinated and we left for our nearly opposite destinations. He did not hug me or even took my hand for a few seconds. He lifted his suitcase and I shrugged. Yes, I have her on the tip, and probably hostage to my taste. His words have now been imprisoned in the basin of my mouth, language fills my throat, tense vocal cords.
She is waiting for me every night, all my afternoons on the other side of the screen. So, between the lines, we attempt to diminish the distance and waiting. Each one writes in his own language, mixed terms. So we developed an artificial and contrived language. Today I awake escaping to anywhere with this machine that shoots messages, messages, conversations. I try to master this machine, which leads me to where she is, but it’s a gimmick. We pop the letter in white flickering computer monitor.