I’m sitting here listening to some music. Sounds simple enough. Nothing dangerous about getting lost in some Two Gallants or Band of Horses. Music is a form of escape to an certain extent, akin to a drug addict chasing the dragon. Either to kill the pain or diffuse it somewhat. Drift away from the sludge of a loathsome job or a brief respite from my own racing thoughts. A vain attempt at mindfulness. Most of the time music does what I ask it to do: calm me, deaden me. On rarer occasions, music sends me down a treacherous path. All it took was a song by Cat Stevens called Wild World. The opening line “now that I’ve lost everything to you…” My calmness has evaporated, replaced by thoughts of her. Always her.

I miss her smell. That intoxicating aroma of Chanel perfume and an exotic fruity body lotion. Her sexiness had a smell too, like how a cloud would smell if it was engulfed in flames, if that makes sense. Her scent was alluring, it weakened me. It flattened me.

I miss her eyes. Those big and round mahogany eyes. With one sultry look from her, all my insecurities melted away. She had a way of disarming me with a glance, her eyes saying more than words ever could. With a single look, i knew what she was thinking and feeling, and i knew that when her eyes blazed in anger, that i should just be quiet for a spell. Her eyes were the judge, jury and executioner and I begged for leniency most of the time.

Ultimately, what I miss most about her is… her. I miss being in her world. All those conversations we had, talking about everything and everyone. I miss that. I miss her passion, which she had an abundance of. Our frequent outings to authentic Mexican restaurants or just sitting around drinking some Corona and laughing. I miss that too. She was always nervous about talking to white people (gringos) because of her accent, she felt judged at times. Yes, I miss that as well, that vulnerable side of her. I most assuredly miss her gorgeous face, a face that stopped me in my tracks and had me crawling to her in submission. She used to only call me “diablo”, never Chris, only diablo. How I pine to hear her call me that one more time.

As I sit here writing this, I’m very aware how pathetic it seems. Reeks of loneliness and the inability, at times, to move forward and accept ones fate. I most certainly understand that rationale. But frankly, I don’t care. Sometimes you have to bleed on the paper when you choose to write about something personal,you have to dig deep and be honest with yourself. Its the only way to write with passion, open your veins up and let it all out. She’s the mother of my daughter, she’s a woman I loved unconditionally and sometimes, like today, I just miss her.


2 thoughts on “Churro

  1. Well said. I particularly liked the image of a burning cloud. In fact, your descriptions are great throughout; you could feel the longing.

    Particularly, i thought pining for her to call you “diablo” again almost brought a tear to my eye. Good stuff.

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