stasis

she sits in front of me, on the ground, barely moving. switching from e-reader to cellphone in a hand as i make myself a way to lay down on the puff chair. cigarette being lit on the other. she scrolls down instagram, timidly running over my photo, a plausible fear i was looking — wasn’t, took an accidental glimpse while trying to make myself comfortable — i focus on my phone screen and start to write, couple seconds go by and the whole thing vibrates over an instagram notification, i laugh quietly, trying not to drag attention from her earphones (i succeed) and wipe away the notification without even looking at it.

another day, another time, this could be uncomfortable for the two of us — she really gets annoyed over people doing “nothing” when close to her or she’s minding her business. she believes to feel eyes upon her, attention being begged, even when there’s nothing, which is most of the time. always found the idea a bit funny, in a non-demeaning way to say something is funny. almost as an appreciation. compliment, even. cute might be a better word. let’s stick with funny, and so it goes.

the videogame screen remains still at the corner of the room. time feels still. facts, narrative, nothing seems to be happening. looking at the house feels weird, it almost looks like a photograph — i think, while making a way back to the bedroom. she breathes heavily, annoyed, probably minding me doing “nothing” too close to her. still funny. time is weird, even the ceiling fan feels wrong to my eyes — by moving, that is — as i feel a sudden urge to describe everything in stillness, to describe in stasis. the cigarette doesn’t seem to burn at my fingers, nor warm them. i remember a song. the same that always pop on my head over this feeling, this urge. the same scene i always wanted to write about pops back too. everything in absolute stillness. even my fingers over the screen seem to move frame by frame. she lays beside me, head on my feet, pillow between us — also funny. time to let myself to sleep. i get up to lock and check the door, check the cats, turn off the lights but the one in the kitchen (god do i miss those lamps) and she hides her phone screen for me as if i don’t know why — funny — then asks if im off to sleep, claiming to be uncomfortable under my wake presence but restraining herself to ask me to stay at the living room — and still funny.


it’s amazing how i have been getting this feeling almost on a daily basis over the last, what, maybe the last four years? it all started at the airport, can’t remember if coming or going, waiting for someone or my plane. either way, doesn’t matter. i sat there, wait, going, i was going, can almost feel the messenger bag strap over my shoulder, weighted by the computer inside of it by trying to remember now. back on track, i sat there, waiting, listening to album after album on my soon-to-be-broken-and-useless new phone. and right there, as the track played, the whole scene popped inside my head. like a frozen film frame, a pause, just an image, almost a photograph. but it was — it is — a scene. i know the context, the characters, the reasons, the outcomes. everything has been carefully repeating inside my mind over the past years, and it takes long.

always in the same frame. i know how to tell it, how to begin it, how to end it, how to present the characters, the scenario, the sequence leading to that frame, everything. i wrote and rewrote all of that countless times as for now. never finishing it.

i might keep it for a long time yet.

or maybe i just like the feeling it gives me.