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Real or not
by Israel Segall

As I emerged from lethargy I questioned the certainty of the moment, of you, of me, of us.

Perhaps subtly I left my imagination in the kaleidoscope of hope.

Too many images, multiple sensations that were cracking with splinters of truth.

Maybe you don't exist. Nothing so good is true.

Delusions formed with glances, with the scent of coffee, with flying commissures.

I wonder how long fantasies live and when they return to being reminders of what it takes to

be happy.

If you were real my ears would stop listening to the drizzling murmurs, dulled by your breath.

If you weren't I'd make you live in memories, in nooks and crannies, no one could reach.

If you were real I'd offer a feast of kisses capable of remaking your story. Let each one be a

container of passions and sins. Silent reverence from my lips to yours.

Portuguese explorer of the borders of your neck, of the sinuous lines of the map of your fears.

If you were not let me compose you with the last note of my guitar, make you tangible,

palpitating, turbulent, and docile.

Let me feel you as a shooting star, a bearer of desires, a healer applying an ointment of

caresses to the invisible scars of my life.

Real or not, you are a reflection of my mirror. You are and will be a you, an I, a we.

Israel Segall is a Chilean writer, Master in Arts (Creative writing), journalist, and teacher based in Melbourne, Australia. His work has been published mainly in the press and he is starting a new career as a storyteller.

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