I'd like to believe that you're completely gone, but no. That would be easier to explain this existential void that stays after going through another skin.
You're still here beating inside me
and the hardest to accept
it's just that I don't know how to move on.
Life went on of course.
Slept in other beds, in other arms.
Kissed other mouths, bit other lips.
I learned to say new names
without confusing me with yours.
I did what someone supposed to do
that "he's over it".
But there is a truth
that the subconscious won't admit:
and is that the body can get used to other skin, but the heart can't always. The feeling, the feeling will always be another.
Sometimes I just give myself all away
and still i feel incomplete.
There's always something missing or someone extra inside.
Someone who didn't quite leave.
Someone who stayed living
in a place where nothing should exist anymore.
You are in there...
& u pop up like a curse
everytime i get devoured by other hands.
I've loved the other, yes.
Or at least I believed so.
Maybe it was affection, company, custom.
Maybe it was fear to sleep alone with my memories.
Because true love means being whole,
and I... I always reach into other arms
at da half way, game on.
There are nights where pleasure
don't do your part, not enough.
Where the body responds to touch
but the soul is absent.
Where I end up looking at the ceiling
wondering at what point I accepted to settle for just pleasure and flesh.
And no, I don't live trapped in the past.
I live conscious of the present.
And the cruelest thing of all is not missing you.
It's to know that, even though the years pass,
though they change the names,
though time does its work on the surface,
it will never feel the same to taste other lips, caress other skin, caress other hands.
—Gustavo Chaos✍🏻 (05 En. 2026)
and the hardest to accept
it's just that I don't know how to move on.
Life went on of course.
Slept in other beds, in other arms.
Kissed other mouths, bit other lips.
I learned to say new names
without confusing me with yours.
I did what someone supposed to do
that "he's over it".
But there is a truth
that the subconscious won't admit:
and is that the body can get used to other skin, but the heart can't always. The feeling, the feeling will always be another.
Sometimes I just give myself all away
and still i feel incomplete.
There's always something missing or someone extra inside.
Someone who didn't quite leave.
Someone who stayed living
in a place where nothing should exist anymore.
You are in there...
& u pop up like a curse
everytime i get devoured by other hands.
I've loved the other, yes.
Or at least I believed so.
Maybe it was affection, company, custom.
Maybe it was fear to sleep alone with my memories.
Because true love means being whole,
and I... I always reach into other arms
at da half way, game on.
There are nights where pleasure
don't do your part, not enough.
Where the body responds to touch
but the soul is absent.
Where I end up looking at the ceiling
wondering at what point I accepted to settle for just pleasure and flesh.
And no, I don't live trapped in the past.
I live conscious of the present.
And the cruelest thing of all is not missing you.
It's to know that, even though the years pass,
though they change the names,
though time does its work on the surface,
it will never feel the same to taste other lips, caress other skin, caress other hands.
—Gustavo Chaos✍🏻 (05 En. 2026)
