Lonely Saturday

Oi, lienda,
Bella che fa?
Bonita,
Bonita, Qué tal?
But, Belle,
Je ne comprends pas français
So you'll have to speak to me
Some other way.


Saturday sits on her brown-carpeted floor
Leaning her back to the bed, Saturday listens to Jack Johnson
Stretching her arms to the ceiling, like it's reachable then dropping 'em again
Saturday is wandering, swimming in the river of delicate thoughts...
She feels nothing. Not happy, not sad, not angry, not hungry, not cold, not sleepy, not afraid.
She neither hurries nor worries
Not a thing. Nada.
She wants nothing.
Saturday whispers silently to me, "I tell you a dear secret; I only feel loneliness."
Then both of us are silent, staring blankly to the wall.
Suddenly I feel Saturday's sitting side by side with me, instead of I'm moving to sit next to her.
On the same boat. Mine, not hers.
If we both smoked (which we both don't), I can see her lighting a cigarette and sharing it with me, then we can see together the dancing smoke in the air of the dimly lit room.


I ask her, "How tiring is it, to not be able to feel or want anything, well, except loneliness?"
She replies not. Not having an answer from her, I assume she is also unable to feel that she's tired.
I don't know whether I wish I were Saturday, that she's never tired but also not feeling anything else.


But deep down, I'm pretty sure Saturday actually needs a bath tub for a cozy warm bubble bath.
I don't know whether she can feel better, but I bet it's always worth the try.

;)