- BON VOYAGE (EN) -

In the end

we remained

as friends

who never

spoke again.

The incision

with the scalpel

was precise,

painless.

Congratulations!

After

a month,

I came to realize

everything.

The fear

of you leaving me

was used

by another;

the fear that one day

what we had

would end,

just to hide away.

I endured

like that for

two

years.

By the

third,

I learned

they were only

echoes

wandering through

the cave.

A loaded

donkey

finds its

path...

My grandfather taught me that,

along with a book

on independence.

Not long ago,

on Christmas Day,

I saw your profile picture.

You taught me

that the void

you filled

with the landscapes

of the countries

you fled to

to escape yourself,

was not

ready

for me.

Good thing

my face still

fits

the ID card.

I’m not going to lie:

I’m not happy for you.

In the end,

the scalpel

carried rust

from what began

in the park

where we said

for the first time:

"This cannot go on."

But well,

since you posted it

there,

where I never reached,

perhaps with him

you won’t be afraid

of having children.

Perhaps with him

you won’t be afraid

to introduce him

to your parents.

I’m going to stop,

for too many

verses

I’ve already dedicated to you.

In every love story

someone has to be

the jilted one

whose turn it is

to sing

a serenade.

Well,

if anything,

to your friend—

when you put him

through that rusty knife—

attach my contact info;

for advice

on how to handle

the post-op,

he’ll find me

where the waves come to die,

in San Andrés,

while they whisper:

"Au revoir."