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These Violent Delights (en Inglés)
Dominique Bonten
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These Violent Delights (en Inglés) - Bonten, Dominique
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Reseña del libro "These Violent Delights (en Inglés)"
This is for the time I rode my bike down a hill for the first time - got so scared I slammed on the breaks and now I have a scar to remind me why I can never take things fast. This is for the time I held hands with my sister in Arizona, while her in Colorado. For the time we cut our hands and smushed our blood together, to make a pact only sisters can make. This is for the time I rode bareback in Canada - mountains for days; I was alive. This is for letting go of the reins when you see heaven in sight. My mom always told me you were closer to heaven on top of the mountains. This is for the time we flew home to Holland to clear out my mom's sister's home; we didn't know what to do with the cats and my sister and I paced her spiral staircase for hours, trying our best to feel the walls and become the windows, to breathe in her lingering cigarette smoke. This is for the time I smoked weed and wore a dress and drove with my headlights off. For the time I became a wolf and grew sharp teeth - the time I outgrew being a sheep. I'm writing this because I have lost so many lovers, I have fallen apart on the bathroom floor at four in the morning wondering why all the books I've read told me to cultivate this loneliness. I'm writing this because I'm stronger now than the girl who fell in love with people who did nothing but dilute her. This is for my child, for the time I was so big even my feet were swollen; for the time I learned to grocery shop by myself, and for every time I wandered through airports one time in love, and the next time annihilated. This is for the time the air conditioning went out in the RV and the time my sister and I first got scooters, and we raced around the campgrounds like we were in our special Olympics. For every time I have been alone, and for every time I have been surrounded by people and have still been alone. This is for the sand dunes, the Grand Canyon, the caves, Monument Valley, the glaciers in Canada, and every other place I have step foot in. I write because I am alive and alone and I need to understand. This is for the time we fought in the middle of an intersection and the time you told me you hated me and I am writing this because I have a hurricane inside of me and I fear I will destroy everyone who touches me. This is for street lights and car alarms and running through neighborhoods barefoot. This is for melted popsicles in the summer time and putting crosses over mosquito bites. For the time we sneaked into the Memphis Zoo through the sewers and the time we got lost in the woods at night. I am doing this because I need to know why we operate and why we feel and what it all means. This is for complications and arguments and every bruise that's colored my skin. This is for being alive and being terrified.
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