I’m a fire breather, spitting flames, chowing down on dragons for breakfast. Who’s up for crispy lips and tongues reduced to ash? I’ve been holding back for a while now, keeping my cool, not letting my inner fire show. My self-esteem is like a blazing sun, making the actual sun nervous.

Inkblots and profound contemplations hold little sway over me. I am a literary monster, voraciously consuming words, meticulously extracting imperfections as if they were stubborn morsels lodged in my teeth. The pursuit of knowledge, one might surmise, does not align with my predilections.

Upon awakening from the realm of nightmares, I find myself offering a reproachful nod to my brain, demanding greater ingenuity in its nocturnal creations. Perhaps in the future, my very heart shall tire of its rhythmic cadence, perhaps it’ll create another melodic wave for itself. It’s all quite the jest, an enigma not easily deciphered by the uninitiated. My disposition is not one of indolence but rather one of intellectual acumen- one wrought with skill and precision.  Skillfully concealed within the obscurity of shadows and soot.

I harbor an earnest desire to avoid inconveniencing others, demonstrated through the artful interception of a mid-air sneeze or the prudent sideline counsel offered to the Great Ali on the refinement of his footwork. As I analyze my mile times, the prospect of whether I have outgrown this competitive race taunts my contemplative fire breathing. “Perhaps,” I say, “it’s time to invest in a collection of third-place trophies.”

I tend to simplify my speech when I’m chatting with folks, but when that lactic acid starts settling in, my inner masochist comes out to play. My Achilles’ heel? Knowing when to go all in. It’s like this constant internal debate: Should I give it my all, or am I just afraid of not being the best?

And then there’s the whole “do I love you or not” dilemma that’s got me scratching my head. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, one minute I’m sure I love it, and the next, I’m not so sure. What I can say for certain is that I’ve got a fear of uncharted territories, of new places. Which probably explains why I didn’t give you a fair shot. Rejection terrifies me. But when I’m around you, there’s this mysterious reaction going on, and I’m equally fascinated and perplexed by it.

It’s the one thing I couldn’t dissect like I do with chemical reactions, breaking it down into molecules, atoms, acids, proteins, muscles, and yes, even madness. But you know what? I’ve come to realize that I didn’t really need to break it down. It’s dawning on me now that I’ve been hiding behind a façade of self-love and self-deprecating humor, and I’m teetering on the edge of falling apart.

And then, out of the blue, you entered the picture, seemingly from nowhere and yet right here. I usually love deciphering puzzles in a heartbeat, dissecting things like Picasso’s “Self Portrait Facing Death” just to delve into the artist’s psyche. But you, you’re an enigma. I can’t quite figure you out. You’re right there, yet somehow not. You’re here, but concealed beneath all this emotional debris. She’s right here, Cristian, and it’s hitting me hard.

Perhaps consider enlisting a bloodhound to sniff out the elusive hole in my heart. Maybe that could work. But here’s the thing, just a mere whisper, and maybe you’ll resurrect her. Right there. (Read this next part in tiny text) Right there.

I vividly recall my days in Mexico City, strutting around like a wanderer. My little game was to memorize faces for a fleeting five minutes, and let me tell you, they all took residence in my nightmares, incessantly urging me to stop trying to prove something to myself. Then, lo and behold, I’d stumble upon them during random city jaunts, and I’d exclaim, “I’ve seen you before!” (in my head, at least) and promptly proceed to sleep for half a day, or perhaps go on an impromptu hiking expedition. So, what I’m getting at is that all this while, those faces were right there. Everything I’ve ever went against that I created as an obstacle was always right there. 

It’s like you, you know? Not in a physical sense, of course. There are moments when I sense your presence, a warmth akin to a blazing fire, right there. But alas, I understand that my fiery breath might not allow it to be so. Its why dragons are always alone.