Panchito‘s Diary

Nina, when i eat Monte i think about u

Leila, when i hear karaoke i think about you 

Mat, when i pronounce Stracciatella I think about u

Jie, when i use my toothpaste i think about u

Jaana, when i remember ur smile I think about u

Lena, when i wonder where my sweaters are, I think about you 

Angie, when i think about Zionism I think about u

Neni, when I think about snobby Effect Pedals I think about you 

Maria, when I am kinda horny I think about you 

Pipe, when I drink good redwine I think about you 

Deena, when i think about a soft voice I think about you 

Salsabile, when I see honey over meat, i think about you 

Hans, when i see feet looking like an Empanada I think about you.

When i think about those names i think about why we parted ways.

When i think about other names that i dont mention, i wonder if i really dont miss anything or if i just avoid to remember.

I wonder if those names were not strong enough to survive my overflowing mind and memories, are they gone for good, or for bad?

I remember also skin and odors. Taste and warmth. Seasonal addictions and emotional dumpsters. Burnt bread and rotting food.

Too many tears and not enough crying. Bloodlust and over attachment. Screams and naked bodies.

Water and friction. Gambling and ignorance. Naiveness and fears.

Invisibility and mourning. Moans and silence. Crumbs and stains.

Polyester and feathers, suicidal thoughts and scary laughters

Stop looking at me like that. Stop looking into my crevices and flaps. Dont touch me and how dare u to judge me.

That mumbling voice repeating those words every minute. That I cannot forget.

How come this river of ever growing toughts can attach itself so hard to that kind of lichen and moss. 

Those names are so far behind but also still linger some heat around my ears and neck when i close my eyes and my body trembles.

What if I were a meatless chicken? 

What if i were not born in a cage?

Would then i be more me and less them?

The syrup of love is thickened with superglue.

The bitter taste of genitalia is masked by the performance of peace.

Intimacy makes me high and solitude drowns me into the sea.

Did they lost me? Did they found me?

Do they remember my name?

Do they know its dead?

Do they know im alive?

Do i?