Eduardo Jáuregui Martínez

Where Melancholic Aftertastes Dwell

What To Expect:

An Hispanic flavor to Writing.

Life, with a Melancholic lens.

The Magic in the Everyday.

The Pot of Rice

The pot was still half-full when morning came, a promise of warmth even then remaining in those rigid grains of rice. But I didn’t want to eat the rice, I didn’t want to throw it away. After all, this was the last thing that remained of her in the house.

I (Don't) See Dead People

The midnight taps on the wall stopped one day.

I can’t do this anymore, read a message scribbled with red lipstick left on my nightstand the next morning.

I went to an exorcist. And then to a relationship therapist. Just in case.

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