No Reconozco

I don't recognize that guy looking scared
from the mirror of the escalators.
Over there where everyone looks searching, who knows,
maybe a submerged Atlantis
or a rebellious strand,
something lost among memories or teeth.
It’s probably just that you’re not by my side.

I step out onto the street after buying old records
that remind me, of course, of you.
Distance and love have this habit
of mixing pleasure with the urge to suffer.
I step out onto the street and light a cigarette
—I couldn’t quit, you know—
thinking maybe the smoke will carry
my prayers to you.

You see, life has the bad taste
of going on without counting on me.
Everything seems like a sad and obscene set
because you’re not here.
You see, the world doesn’t have the decency
to apologize for pushing us aside
in a rude way to keep moving on.
Everything seems like a poorly acted play,
yellowed, cracked,
because you’re not here,
because all the March nights
that I’ve stolen from you while swimming in your clothes,
all the good demons,
all the desires born in your mouth.

Fighting with the gray spiders of forgetfulness,
like the shrinking man in a vast Madrid,
I search for my lost car. I find it sinking
like the steam that Lord Jim left behind.
And by chance, I pass by the street where I saw you cry.
The city has its traps, and who wants to escape?

I get home tired, defeated, and Penelope—she’s clever—
didn’t wait for me this time either.
I turn on the TV; I do the laundry, and nothing
makes me escape from your memory, from the pain.
I feel like I’m dying, and outside in the street neither Paris nor downpours.
It must be winter, the flu, the moment
or that you’re not by my side.

But even though life has the bad taste
of going on without counting on me,
I know that one day it will be sunny and calm
because you’ll be there.
Even if the planet doesn’t have the decency
to apologize for pushing us aside
in a rude way to keep moving on,
I know that one day everything will be different,
happy simply,
because you’ll be there,
because all the March nights
that I’ve stolen in front of your door,
all the new promises
that write the path to Neverland,
all the dreams and the light
of your hands searching in my clothes,
all the good demons,
all the desires born in your mouth.