Freedom Means Drinking From the Cup of Love and Loneliness
My life is in my hands, the way it should have always been.
It’s almost 11 pm, and the city remains wildly awake. I can feel people’s fear in the air as police cars go around trying to put on a show of safety. Such is life in a Mexican border town that’s growing up too fast.
I’m sleepy but have so much to do I know I’ll fight to stay awake until I slump on my chair. So I make a cup of strong tea and grab a cigarette from a package I bought a few weeks ago that I hadn’t opened yet. I know; I shouldn’t smoke.
There’s a light breeze, and humidity floats in the air. I unlock the kitchen door and step outside my apartment to escape the humming of the air conditioner.
I light up my cigarette, and I sip my tea. My mind is a whirlwind, all thoughts shouting at the same time. I try to focus on the work ahead of me.
This will be a long night.
However, I end up thinking of love. After all, that’s the actual concern keeping me up right now.
I’m on the second floor, so I can comfortably admire the tiny piece of land I pay rent for. So many times, I have promised myself I will leave to go to a place with a more benevolent kind of weather. Enduring 110°F summers becomes…
