miércoles, 28 de marzo de 2018


You told me stories of times long past, and bounced me on your knee. You gave me love and hugs and chocolate biscuits. I will always remember how you would build a tent under a fig tree, for me to play on those long, lazy summer days. How you would have freshly squeezed orange juice for me every Thursday. Little details, like the way you'd make malt drink every morning, the lemon syrup you so liked to treat me with, the strength of your hands, so big, holding mine. The scent of your shaving products, the sound of your laughter.

I wanted to call you, to tell you that I cared, I thought I would get another chance. May angels lead you in, gramps. I will always love you.

domingo, 28 de mayo de 2017

The loop

There I was, sitting on the street, waiting for my ride home, when I saw the future him. Tattered and dishevelled, lost, confused, broke and broken. With a hoarse voice he talked, eyes hazy, yet with an intelligence buried beneath all the smoke, like a sun hiding behind the clouds. He talked, and I listened, and I felt this sadness overcome me, because he's what's to come.

It's a dull, muffled pain, as though it came from a life past, from a different point in the loop of life and death, a different name, a different face, the same soul.

I gave the man some food that he didn't really want (the money, I just need the money, I can buy the food myself). I saw the way life ravaged his body, tore his insides out, and wondered at what point he became such a ghost of himself. Maybe in a room full of smoke and trash bags. Wondered then if it was a moment, if there was a before and an after, a point in time where he was irretrievable from the fog. Wondered if anyone could have stopped it, wondered if anyone would have cared, if he was alone because he burned through people like matches.

The man left and I watched him go, wobbling like the street was made of jelly.

viernes, 24 de febrero de 2017

The fight is never over.

You looked so frail, in your hospital gown, barely able to breathe, talking to people who weren't there in a language that wasn't yours. Memories of childhood and war seemed to find their way to your mind, in the shape of bullets and the sound of blasts. I thought, that last time I held your hand, that it would be the last forever, that I would never be able to look into your clear blue eyes again. How glad I am that I was wrong, that the same strength that keeps me walking is running through your veins. Ste yuj, yu gonplei no ste odon. 

martes, 14 de febrero de 2017

V day

Day after day, I walk with you. With our secret words and our full conversations in just one look. With the feeling that for once, I'm not alone.

The way you get me is uncanny. It's like you see inside my head, as though you have the ability to look into my eyes and find my soul in there, and you see it, not just look at it. And you push me, oh man, do you push me. You see me for me, you love me for me, and you have such confidence in me that you, without words, without actually doing anything, push me to become the better version of me. Because when I see how you so blindly believe that I can do something, I somehow become convinced that I can.

I love that about you.

See, it's great, I know that I can be myself around you, that I'm safe like I don't think I've ever felt before with any other human, but at the same time, I know I can be anything. I fucking know. Where before I felt (or I was told) I had to be something else, be better, be good enough (which I never could), I feel good enough now, and funnily enough, that makes me want to improve.

You helped me find my wings, and I learned to trust them.

And I know, I know that you have my six as I have yours. I know that no matter what, shitty or good, every day ends with my head on your chest, with my lips on your skin, with your tongue licking my sex. My soul rests easy in the knowledge that you are with me in the sunny days, but also in those gray, rainy ones. And together we learned to dance in the rain, to look for the rainbow, to create one when we can't find it.

You are my best friend, my lover, my partner in crime, my traveling companion, and in this trip the journey is what matters, not the destination, because all my futures are with you.

lunes, 30 de enero de 2017

A chuisle mo chroí

And now the heart beats. It beats fast, a quick, unsteady rythm against the wall. Cheek pressed against the cold tiles, the metallic scent of blood, velvet against my tongue. The feel of your skin on my throat, the danger of your teeth so close, so close.

The heart beats, stuttering, drenching me. It's building up, growing, like a living thing between us. Silent pleas, hushed whispers, summer's gone but it's scorching in here. My body hums and vibrates, the danger of cold metal against my skin, so close, so close.

Desire trickles down my legs, you lick it off me, I'm insane with need. Inside it's burning me, branding me, this thing between us that never seems to cease. Three years on the making, this picture that you paint on me, in red, black and blue, beautiful flowers blooming where your fingers grab my hips. Bruising me oh, so good.

And my heart beats.

miércoles, 4 de enero de 2017


Blood. So much blood. On the floors, on the clothes, on her face, everywhere. I would have died to protect her, but Christmas was gone and I had no more wishes left. I tried to stop it, but there was nothing to do but say goodbye, kiss her furry face and ease her pain. One minute, and then the next she wasn't there anymore.

It sure is funny how time flies, how it has already been a week and a half of a world where she no longer greets me when I arrive, how it has been such a long week, and yet I can't believe so much time has passed. In a way, it felt like time should have stopped with her. And I can't count how many times I've yearned for her, cried her absence. How angry I am, because she deserved better than to go that way. How I wish I could turn back time and make things better, if only to ease her way out.

I have found that time doesn't heal, just dulls, that love is priceless, that memory is where the soul lives. That the only way to ease the nightmares is to recall the good times, moments of sunshine and rivers and laughter forever ours. That day she chased ducks, the day we found the six-leaved clover, the first time I set my eyes on her brown ones, her silky fur under my fingers, her happy yips when I got home from a trip. Her loyalty, her undying love.

So here's to my precious girl, so that her memory never fades, even when my brain can no longer recall her.

I'll catch you on the flipside. 

martes, 16 de agosto de 2016


De visita por el baúl de los recuerdos me vi a mí misma hace casi 4 años. Qué triste, qué patética, que bella. De tener la oportunidad de hablarme, me diría lo increiblemente hermosa que era en toda mi frustración, en todo mi dolor, en toda mi humanidad. Me diría que no me podía imaginar cuánto cambiaría, pero que abrazara esos cambios, porque eran vida, pero bueno, esos cambios son precisamente los que me llevaron a donde estoy en este momento. Y desde la perspectiva que da el tiempo, todo ese dolor era bello, como es bello el dolor de un parto. El nacimiento siempre es doloroso, pero es necesario.

"Cuánto has cambiado, nena", me diría, "aunque tú aún no lo sabes; pero dentro de ti se está gestando la semilla de la libertad, la semilla de la felicidad." Y que un día comprendería que hay muchas maneras de amar, y que ninguna es errónea, que no estaba equivocada entonces como no lo estoy ahora, que el amor no duele y quien te quiere te cuida. Y yo te quiero, princesa. Te quiero.