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Lola’s hair is long now and never straightened; she’s heavier and less guileless, but she’s still the ciguapa of my dreams. Always happy to see me, no bad feelings, entiendes. None at all.
Before all hope died I used to have this stupid dream that shit could be saved, that we would be in bed together like the old times, with the fan on, the smoke from our weed drifting above us, and I’d finally try to say words that could have saved us.
______ ________ _______.
But before I can shape the vowels I wake up. My face is wet, and that’s how you know it’s never going to come true.
Never, ever.


Oscar–who never defaced a book in his life–circled one panel three times in the same emphatic pen he used to write his last letters home. The panel where Adrian Veidt and Dr. Manhattan are having their last convo. After the mutant brain has destroyed New York City; after Dr. Manhattan has murdered Rorschach; after Veidt’s plan has succeeded in “saving the world”.
Veidt says: “I did the right thing, did’t I? It all worked out in the end”.
And Manhattan, before fading from our Universe, replies: “In the end? Nothing ends, Adrian. Nothing ever ends”.

Junot Díaz, The Brief Wondorous Life of Oscar Wao (Riverhead, 2007)

listening while typing: The Cardigans – And Then You Kissed Me