How long before you arrive?

How long before you arrive? Say no, please. Tell me you’re almost here, within reach of my icy little feet and my hands that love to walk around holding yours.

Say: “Baby, I’m already in the same time zone as you, ready to lose track of the time while I find myself in your delicious laughter, prepared to make you want to check in, without a set deadline, in the comfort of my lap!”

Declare, to kill me with euphoria, that your plane is about to land, that the pilot has already informed you how the sky is in SP and that you, like me, can’t wait to end up hugging, touching , kissing, biting, “cafunezar”… Anyway, all this together and mixed, in that little way that only we know how to do it.

Tell me that the longing – the one that hasn’t stopped growing since the hazy day you took off and that is now compressing my heart – has its days numbered, ready to be shot by the many affectionate and unrestrained mouths it will give – without fear of cramps on the lips and the reaction of the insensitive people who will watch them – on my eyes, the tip of my nose, neck, forehead, ear, back of my neck…

So, has it arrived yet?

And now?

And now?

AND NOW?

Say yes, please.

Say you decided to come back early because your English is already much better than Obama’s English. Or because of the rise in the dollar, I don’t know. But tell me you’re coming back, honey. Or come back without saying anything, by surprise, to impregnate, once again, your scent in me, in this body that loves to surrender to yours, in this skin that gets rough when you think about yours.

Because I’ve washed the dishes, fixed the shower door, defrosted the fridge, cleaned the computer, bought two blouses on impulse, tried to focus on something on TV, reread – without understanding anything – more than ten times the same paragraph from a book idiot, I ate – like strangled and in less than five minutes – a chocolate bar, ironed a shirt and… NONE OF THIS EMPTY WILL PASS!

Why don’t you come soon? Why don’t you show up and swear that you won’t be away from me for so long and that, if it’s up to you, you’ll never leave me without knowing when you’ll arrive? Why don’t you come under my duvet right now, so we can watch all the series, movies and urban noises in the galaxy? Why aren’t you here to ask me – with the face of a bashful Labrador – a foot massage, a very strong coffee and to have faith in what you say? The truth is that, without you, minutes turn into centuries, songs turn into twinges in the chest and the sound of a received message becomes, immediately, the hope of reading a “I’m coming back, love!”

By the way, are you coming back, love? And now?

SEE TOO:

“I decided to stop picking on my husband and I advise you to do the same”