A man walks in the intensity toward the door.
His shadow trailing behind, and she fights with her father and first kisses and laughter and many sleepless nights of love and heartache and family Sunday called drunk and that he received from his uncle and his first night in his first apartment rented and fantasies and anxieties and dreams and failures, and mimes and talks and sadness and hope and despair and fear.
The door closes behind. Shadow with its ocean of time slips below it, passing as a pool to the other room.
remains here, on this side, the silence. Just silence. Silence and assumptions. Assumptions and whispers. Whispers and whispers. Whispers and conversations, conversations soaked and cries of anguish and panic and shit and hate.
battling armies of ideas about us in the office. Soldiers bleed and scream and lash out against each other. Succeed for a brief moment and lost for eternity.
The door opens and with it, again silence.
soldiers remain, dying, standing. The man, the man was walking down the intensity, passes between them. The recognition in the eyes of every one of us. But not paying attention. He goes to his desk. Board photos and cartoons to the security man.
greets us with a smile as wide as life itself. His lips twisted. Want to tell us something. But that's something climbing up his chest and it is anticipated that will not pass through your throat and will not open the little door of his eyes in front of us all. Her lips, then twist and nothing else.
The security assigned to it, barely, to the elevators. As if he had not seen coming and going every day working for four years. The fired containing the insult and continues.
A man walks in intensity toward the door.
His shadow trailing behind, and her hugs and tears and spoons and the games you played as a boy and the woman who broke her heart and watching movies curled up with this woman before she broke her heart his hatred for the ice cream sambayon and that sunny Saturday and the first time I laughed so hard that he had a belly and cheeks, and his first guitar lesson.
The door closes behind. Shadow with its ocean of time slips below it, passing as a pool to the other room.
remains here, on this side, the silence.
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