Cuba

I’m late, 

And I don’t know it,

The time has changed, but I have not. 

I scratch a Wi-Fi card to find reality. Cuba. Another world. 

I walk through this world unaware. Weaving in and out of the music, colors, crumbling buildings, rice and beans, ration cards, tobacco smoke wafting through streets, dancing, need, emotions, alcohol. Things I don’t understand.

You’re angry but I don’t know why. 

I’ve wasted your time. 

Anger melts away with the realization of misunderstanding. Laughter is magic that melts away the tension, understanding brings connection. Warmth.

I slowly come into your world. Youth, softness, you radiate. You invite me in.

You ask me if I’d like a ride home, but I don’t know where home is. I’ll go with you. On your bike. It’s not for me, but I’ll try.

But how? I sit on your bar, not made for an ass. My ass falls this way, that way, looking for a place to land, to hold onto. I’m afraid. I might fall and get hurt but you hold onto me. We are going so fast, too fast. I feel alive, I might die. In traffic. I shouldn’t be here.

You are too young. I ask you how old you are and you tell me. You ask how old I am and I don’t tell you.

I’m young, I dip my toe into your youth, your freedom and fearlessness in this moment. In chaos, in traffic, in Cuba.

You tell me to find you, you tell me your name. I hold on to it, savor it. But I know I will not. I know I will not find you, and I know I will never see you again.

Memories. 

But do you remember me?

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