Luck

I lack the energy for another battle. I let myself be dragged along by the feeling of defeat that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and makes everything taste wrong. Without appetite, without strength, I am an apparition in my own home, where my family stopped seeing me long ago and, when they do, it is with the firm conviction of avoiding me like a flying insect that exists only to bother others.

It’s been a long time since I’ve slept in a bed; instead, the living room couch has become the residence of my dreams, which feel more like nightmares. My wife no longer warms me with her body; caresses, hugs, and kisses are now memories I treasure while I rub my groin. I fear she is seeing someone else; if she hasn’t brought him home to sleep with her, it is only out of respect for our children, whom she loves.

My children, those ungrateful bastards I continue to feed while the weight of reality crushes me. Now they are only a memory of the beautiful creatures they once were. When they run into me in the hallway, they barely look at me; I could even say I’ve come to miss their teenage disdain, and that can only mean one thing: I am growing old, or worse, I am dying, and there is nothing I can do to remedy it, only move forward in death’s footsteps, as life dictates.

Do I give up? No. If I had intended to end it all, I would have done so long ago. Instead, now I wait for luck to turn in my favor.

Photography by Pedro Saavedra Guzmán