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Intimidad

Y entonces no dormimos, no era necesaria tampoco una cama. No era indispensable revelar nuestra piel, ni tampoco cubrirnos del frìo. Sòlo nos necesitabamos los dos, sentados frente a frente y con las miradas enfrentadas, la tuya siempre curiosa y la mía siempre perdida, así construimos nuestra noche de intimidad... con palabras, con besos y con llanto...
Me siento enfrentado a todo lo que he hecho, pero de ninguna manera encerrado por el cuestionamiento. Tal vez, sólo llegó el rescuerdo de la legítima pregunta que salió una tarde de tus labios, y que ahora encuentro en una conversación totalmente ajena.

¿Hace cuanto no tienes intimidad con alguien? Sabìa que no preguntabas por algo que tu supieras, no sueles tener ese tono cuando lo haces, sobre todo sabiendo que anoche dormimos juntos. Mas bien buscabas algo que realmente te estaba persiguiendo y que necesitabas saber.
¿Tener intimidad? Respondì tratando de no saber qué preguntabas. No necesitaste más que mirarme nuevamente, sabías que no era necesario repetir la pregunta. Más preocupado estaba yo cuando salieran de tus labios las palabras preguntando por el futuro, reclamando en un tono sutil el espacio que por derecho asumes como nuestro.

Por primera vez escribo algo de ti, porque tal vez me prometí que tendría que ser diferente, sin la absurda promesa de intentar cambiar, pero con toda la intención de ser eternos.

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