Nico's Nonsense

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