Edges

She will die too soon.
Thousands will cry her passing away.
El mundo enmudecerá y las calles permanecerán desiertas.

–She will be missed–

All the creatures from forests, seas and underworld will raise their heads to the sky.
Sus lágrimas no terminarán nunca.
Los rayos de sol palidecerán y la luna se esconderá.
El doloroso blanco y negro de la realidad la acompañará en su pérdida.

–She will be missed in many different ways–

Pero este velo no permanecerá…
Y quedará en poco más de una ilusión,
una pesadilla diurna, un dramatismo temporal.
La calidez que encontraron en el día a día,
esa sí.

– She will be missed, in many different ways. In a new one everyday–
As she was once loved, she will be missed.

When Eternity and Instant meet

Me paro un segundo. Me he dado cuenta de algo. Algo que me da escalofríos, aunque no dejo que me amargue más de un minuto. No veía, no miraba. Estaba sumida en un pozo de oscuridad del que solo quería escapar. Me había perdido entre tanto dudar, me había perdido en un mundo que creía conocer, cuando el único mundo que existe es el que descubrimos con cada paso que damos, el que exploramos hoy. Pretendemos que lo conocemos y que sabemos lo que vamos a encontrar y eso nos carcome el alma. Continue reading “When Eternity and Instant meet”

Waiting is not always waiting

I wait by the sea.
The wind is raising.
And I forget to breathe.

The bird dies,
If the shell isn’t broken.
If the shell isn’t broken,
if it isn’t broken by him.
The bird dies
before having a chance to live.

The leave is swept away.
The plump rots.
The rose withers.
The mane is cut.

I wait by the sea.
The sun rises.
And I stay quiet.

I wait by the sea.
I wait for the world
to collapse beneath me.

I wait by the sea.
I wait for the water
to reach my feet
and take me with it.

I wait by the sea.
No time passes
without its due change.

You see it after seven years,
but it wasn’t a sudden growth.
It happened while you were watching
that the plant got steady feet.

I wait by the sea.
They say that
I wait by the sea.

Whispers

A finger tracing a curve. A hand moving towards my heart. A whisper saying something my ear cannot understand. A wave of warmth that falls on my body as if a blanket had just been laid upon me. Two arms raising my back. A tickling caress on my face, pitch dark as the night that is watching over me now.

Clothes that rustle. Conversations that stop, memories that fade away, images that vanish, chaos that crumbles.

Movement, life happening.

Eyes closed that find. Mind that disentangles. Emotions that do not recognise themselves. Duality that ceased.         .

A name.

And many other words. Words that could hurt, that could heal, that excite, that surprise, that make you smile, that make no sense. That maybe are not real words. Words that I understand and words that I don’t, but that I learnt.

Other words that I’m making up as I go. But the same meaning behind all of them.

And a name.

All we need

That same story again. Echoing in my head, like a long forgotten dream that comes back after years of lying under the radar of my consciousness. The face of that beautiful girl, hiding behind another one with a stronger heart. Those eyes so full of desire and dreams, and that body, so sweet but always immobilised by fear. That trembling that seemed to make the dress dance on its own. It’s not unheard of, the pain lingering in the traits of the soul.

I knew.

She was afraid of love. And I wanted to pour onto her everything in the world there was to give. I wanted to show her that a love that would never leave existed, a love that was more resilient than any belief, than reality itself. A love that could finally convince her about the triumph of goodness. A love that could protect her from every danger, imagined and real. A love that could mirror the beauty that remained hidden to her eyes.

And more than anything else, I know I wanted to prove to myself that I was right. Right to believe, right to have faith, right to have hope.

But when I looked at my hands, I found them empty. Beyond that emptiness, there was nothing. There was nothing they could keep, nothing that would remain. Nothing that could be kept or given away. It could have been a nightmare, but it wasn’t.

It was something better than what I had known, for I discovered the power of my hands. My hands, all I would ever have.

They were all I needed; I could reach out, touch, take, let go and receive. I could build, destroy and reshape.

It was enough. I could hold someone else’s hand.

It was enough. Enough to ask her for a dance.

A bit more (perfect)

“People were supposed to lift each other.”
To cheer up, to hug, to kiss,
to hold hands, to smile,
to lock eyes with their loved ones.
to keep the fire burning.

To melt the loneliness away,
to dry the pouring tears.
to provide shelter,
to help and comfort.
To give meaning
to the small
and big things
in life.

It wasn’t meant to be painful.
It wasn’t meant to be tragic.
It wasn’t meant to bring
regret, fear, anger, sorrow
horror and cries.
But it did.
“It wasn’t meant to be.”

But it was.
In a perfectly
imperfect way.
Simple and complex,
With a bit of everything.

It was meant to be.
Meant to be
a little better,
everyday.

Cristal fundido

No tengo fotos enmarcadas, ni recuerdos imborrables, ni sueños rotos, ni conversaciones que no acababan nunca, ni tu curiosidad invadiendo mi vida, ni miradas que penetraran el alma.

Tengo miradas indescifrables, silencios amargos, te quieros embotellados, gestos congelados en el aire, miedos a caer en el vacío del insuficiente, lágrimas de tristeza anticipada, alegría expectante insatisfecha, deseos sin cumplir. Y impulsos por nacer muertos entre una vida y otra, entre lo que tu callabas y los perros hambrientos que yo escondía.   

Pero también tengo esperanzas florecientes, sonrisas brillantes y abrazos dulces, inspiración para llenar mundos; una historia agridulce única pero como cualquier otra.

Y tengo bombones deshaciéndose en el curso del tiempo. El olor de tu piel, tu aliento, tu casa, tus perfumes, la suavidad de tu cara, la forma de tus labios, el suave ritmo de tus movimientos. Los aplastamiento en toda regla.

No son momentos los que acechan mi conciencia, si no las reinterpretaciones de la historia. Lo que conservo no son las experiencias, sino aquello que te distingue de todo lo demás. Pedazos de ti que pierden relevancia mientras se funden en un futuro más pacífico. Al final resulta que sí me gusta coleccionar.

Y mientras, en mi corazón una mezcla que batí sin parar vuelve a su estado natural. En algún rincón, en algún momento de debilidad, decidí abandonar el manual donde decía que hay que cerrar los ojos y sentir la corriente que siempre cambia y que a veces ni siquiera puede ser percibida.

Y ahora no sé si pedir perdón o perdonar, si gritar, llorar, olvidar o celebrar.

Así que solo cierro los ojos y respiro.

Y dejo que las olas me mezan.

Hesitation

You never understood
that I could’ve
that I would’ve
that I should’ve.

But I couldn’t.
‘Cause you wouldn’t,
you couldn’t, or didn’t.

And then I didn’t know
whether I could,
should or needed to.
Whether I shouldn’t,
whether I mustn’t.

But why should I care?
There is no love,
just prove of love.

And now,
I’m letting go.
Giving to the sea
the power to erase
what didn’t grow,
what caused all the trouble.

For a while,
At least.

Let him bring to the shore,
the pearls shining again
tied in a bracelet
that anyone could wear.

Algo más que palabras

I’m tired, so tired. Of all those questions without answer, of the hidden messages and of the looks whose intentions are never revealed. I’m tired of a game in which I wasn’t given a token, in which my dice was thrown from so far high it never stopped spinning, never reached the ground. I’m tired of the paradox of day and night. I’m tired of the disappointment every time a star disappears, and of the tide that goes away again. I’m tired of hearing voices that I never wanted to hear. I’m tired of all what I have to remember. I’m tired of chasing dreams and I’m tired of them popping into my eyes and having to shut up their cries.  I’m tired of wanting to run away when I need to go forward.

I’m tired of everything. I’m tired of feeling I’m not free to do what I want. I’m tired of trying, of being ready to be myself better to just be stopped by the unknown, metaphorical silences I cannot interpret. I’m tired of feeling I cannot be confident and proud about the way I feel. I’m tired of lying by omission to you, to me and to the universe.

I’ll fight this.

Because I actually can.

Because I choose to be loyal, at least to myself.

Because no matter how hard the training is, it is always worth it.

Because I know better than to settle for my fears.

Because I’m certain about something.

Porque te quiero a ti.

Porque quiero poder abrazarte cuando me salga sin tener que pasar por el filtro de si es correcto o no, de si me vas a apartar o no. Porque quiero dormir en paz por las noches. Porque no quiero tener que descifrar tus pensamientos; los quiero oír de ti. Porque quiero tus besos. Porque por más que tema que me odies por amarte, eso es lo correcto para mí.  Porque no me gusta mentir y cuando digo que quiero y puedo ser tu amiga es verdad, pero también es verdad que ese solo es uno de los caminos posibles a seguir.  Y tan válido como cualquiera, pero en mi libertad de escoger lo que quiero, decido que quiero más. Porque no quiero la lucha de callarme aquello por lo que siempre quise luchar y que quise poder decir en voz alta y con una sonrisa. Porque quiero que confíes en mí. Porque quiero arriesgarme. Un poco, todos los días. Porque quiero una vida contigo, o dos, o las que haya por vivir. Porque vivir sin sentir y sentir sin vivir es un sinsentido del que me confieso culpable. Porque quiero que nuestros mundos se junten. Porque quiero que mis palabras sean más que palabras. Porque te amo.

Y, por supuesto, porque las mariposas esas tienen un atractivo que se me hace permanentemente irresistible.

Te quiero. (Pero eso ya lo sabías).

Are we fools to try?

It comes a point when
even facing your fears is running,
Running away from the pain within,
That very real thing to which you
and only you,
has access to.

How does one heal oneself?
Nobody knows, nobody tells.
We are all walking wounds.
Until we meet her. Or him.
The sweetest in the whole world.

Where are you? I need to find you.
I need you now…
A life of waiting,
and then it will be too late.

And that would be the meaning
of it all.
To wait till you die
for the only thing
that was worth waiting for.