21

Where has my youth gone? Did I ever experience it? Or will that come later, when I’ve grown too old to display what’s left of my vitality? A few giant worms attack an innocent southern village, white aliens send messages, and meanwhile, I’m still running after the same age-old problem.

“That means we’re stuck and that pisses me off!”

I switch to another channel. A simplistic, sexist storyline accompanies a scene.

“Oh, I love you.”

“You’re doin’ good, baby.”

I stare at the action and feel like an alien myself. I’ve reinvented myself, but that doesn’t seem to be enough; it all still feels so empty.

“I’m a damn lion, and lions mate every twenty-five minutes—time to wake up! It’s okay to dream, but every now and then, something has to happen!” It’s gotten to the point where I’m even thinking porn dialogues out loud. I turn off the light.

I ask her: “Can I disappear between your arms?” We’re standing right opposite each other, her panties disappearing between her legs, sucked into the Garden of Eden, millimeters apart; I feel her breasts gently poking against my chest; she smiles; I’m almost pressed against her lips, wanting to rest my head between her arm and her side, my hands reaching for her divine curves.

She looks away, shy, and steps out of my sleep.

I open my eyes; morning is breaking through the darkness. I close my eyes, think of her, want to seek her out, but she’s gone. I grew up with the most beautiful women in bed, only they weren’t real. The one I’m thinking of now is real, but I can’t love her; she’s too far away, too heavy a burden to bear. Still, I want to help, but…

Is it because I want to please, or is she the one I truly want, or am I just too desperate? Maybe it’s better that I find myself first, instead of constantly reinventing myself and showing how I’m not really me.