Nico's Nonsense

Ernesto mi querido,        Do you remember those few nights we'd spent in Cancun? Like honeymooners, like lovers, like best friends. Laughing the past few horrible days that were behind us away. Diving down towards an endless sea. Laying lazily underneath the fiery Caribbean sun, singing and howling, dancing and falling in love. The mornings were ours to waste away in each others arms, the nights; spent listening to the waves' resentment. Our last night together you'd left a single red rose at the foot of my bed. Sheets all tucked away quietly; you and your smug smile greeting me cheerily knowing I'd seen it. Knowing I'd felt the same way. Though we both knew we were to part soon. To return back to reality. Ernesto those lazy mornings and endless nights are all I think of, they seem almost mythical now. Like a dream, and waking up is a nightmare. I long for days like those again. Days like you.                                                                

Part 3        Early next morning I am awoken by the sun, quietly sneaking up upon the spiteful hills. As I sat there on the blistering edge of the the bottom bunk, I sprung up in anticipation,as the bed let out an awful cry. I decided that I would go in search of what I came for. Paraiso, as Romero has, and in deciding this, I got this feeling in the pit of my stomach, excitement, anticipation,and  fear. A feeling that makes you want to burst out laughing and break down crying, all at once. I'm startled by Ernesto's footsteps walking in the room with two mango's in his hand he asks "Breakfast?" I smiled as I grabbed a mango. "I know that look" he said as he bites into his mango, subtly  puncturing the soft of the skin, absorbing every bud of taste it had to offer, as if this were the last mango he would ever eat. I am distracted and have heard nothing of what he's said. "Huh?" I question "Where to today?" He pries &quo

Lay my head on the sober of his chest Rest my hand in the tender of his Kiss the firm of his chin  No longer head west  I've fallen in love And he hasn't a clue It's only because he reminds me of you

 

I am sitting on the bus. The roads here, aren't paved, it's been a harsh and enduring ride, my head, resting against sweat stained windows, my eyes closed, though I'm not asleep. I am partaking in this moment, this dream. A day I have dreamed of since I was eight years old. And since, this is all I've ever really wanted. No luxurious cars, dazzling diamond rings, or white picket fences.                         I hear faint voices of fellow passengers, talking amongst themselves, tourists mostly, excited an anticipating our destination. As I am. And suddenly the bus jolts to a stop, I open my eyes as we pull in through wooden gates, where guards have let us pass. We're finally here.  My heart races,though I hesitate in getting up, this all seems so terribly unreal, and if it is I hope to never wake. Two women push their way out the door, and I follow, still hesitant.  One foot in front of the other I think, stepping down the rickety, worn steps. With dirt crunchi

Part 2                                                                                                             As Ernesto and I arrive in Chamula, we see endless street markets, towering cathedrals and chickens running a muck all around. The colors, sights, and smells seem to conquer my senses, and in submission of them, I am lead to a discreet little table, gluttoned with pan dulce. Every color, taste and flavor imaginable, little ones, medium ones and big, big, big ones. Ones shaped like plump watermelon slices, beefy little piggies, and silly looking ones that were lumpy and ugly all over, but tasted like home, like a memoir almost. My stomach bellowed for them all, though instead I bought one for Ernesto and I to share, I'd share my entire being with that man if I could, if he'd let me.  I continue on to catch up with him. I found Ernesto talking politics and sharing drinks with a local gentleman, a man who reminded me of my grandfather, both wise and demented, old i

She wandered aimlessly through the bookstores aisles  In search of him  A shirt, a hand, a shoe even  Yet found nothing  No one Not even a scent to hold onto

                                                                                                                      Part 1 We’d met in el mercado, a small one, right in the heart of Chiapas, Mexico. The one on Guyava St.   just   across from the Library. Both of us marveling at the beauty of a Country that wasn’t   our own. Though the color of our skin, made us seem to fit in. Indigenous almost. I was there in search of a scarf to compliment the dress I’d bought there the previous day. “El Amarillo." (the yellow one) he whispered as he passed. Just the sound of his voice, like the first strum of a guitar, the last dance at a wedding, brings chills to my entire being, even to the innermost depths of my soul. I turn and his smile meets mine.   A bit crooked, but welcoming. Familiar, and stranger all at once. Like leaving home, like coming back and starting all over again. Like breathing for the first time. Like being in a place the last time. "Have we met?" I ask

Today, I want to be nine again. I want to live life without consequence, live life in utter fulfillment. I want to play in the rain, laugh at the silliest of things, and color outside the lines. I want a milk mustache, a chocolate one preferably, I want to hula hoop until my legs fall off, and run barefoot through the leafy green grass. Ah, to be nine again. To let loose, minus the insecurities, to fall in love with the boy who eats the sandbox sand, the one who likes the way the glue feels peeling off the tips of his fingers, and is king of the tether ball court. To be friends again, and not cliques. To jump rope, to hand ball, and giggling at the boys and their cooties, to overcoming hopscotch and your ultimate fear of dodge ball. To come home to moms homemade "pasghetti" To cartoons and clouds, endless adventure and curiosity To sisters and brothers and cousins. To Bonnie and Clyde in the back yard, to club houses and blanket forts made out of chairs, brooms and vacuum

                           Isla Mujeres, Quintana Roo; a place of beauty, a place of happiness, but most importantly, a place of love. In coming to the municipal, little island, located off the northeast coast of the Yucatán Peninsula , I expected nothing short of a tourist trap.   A place only interested in the money in my pocket, they sure proved me wrong. Arriving in mid-April, my first task was to find a cheap, clean hostel, right in the heart of the island itself.   A fellow traveler I’d met earlier that week, in Cancun suggested a place named;   Pocna Hostel.     “It’s good price” he told me, in his broken English. I was on a budget, so I budged. Walking in, I was greeted by cheery foreigners like myself at the service desk, given sheets, a pillow, and a sleek red wristband that read “Mi casa en el Caribe” I thought nothing of it at the time. My goal in coming to the island was simply a resting stop, between Cancun and Chitzen Itza (our next destination.) My first night on t

It's nearly 4 am. My mothers home is completely silent. All that is heard are the sounds of the clock ticking, and my fingers pounding the keyboard's keys. It's nearly 4 am, why am I even awake? Curse you late night coffee cravings! How I loathe you, and love you dearly...  My eyelids are starting to get heavy, and the sun starting to peer through the cracks of the Western Hemisphere.I've come to realize that staying up this late, or early (depending on which way you see it) is simply no good. It's trouble I tell  you. You think reading about it's bad? My unwilling awakeness (yes I know that's not a  real word) has driven me across this lonely planet.  Literally, to   lonelyplanet.com . I find myself perusing through South America, Egypt, then finally Laos.                                    Laos. My love.  My secret dream destination. I catch myself there for what seems like an hour, but is probably more. In awe of the beauty captured in one single