Iridiscente

Pelusica en mi cama, la brisa que entra por la ventana huele a otoño. Es una promesa de lo que ha de venir, y puedo sentir en este momento la mano sutil del tiempo deslizarse por un cuerpo en constante cambio, un universo que rebrota cada segundo, que muere cada segundo.

Exploring the blackout of emotions.

Am I psycho?

It's a question I face often enough, when my brain deems it acceptable to ask it, based on the circumstances. Most often than not it's in the aftermath of a loss, but sometimes in between too. More often than not it's after I forget too quickly, after I regain my positive carelessness too fast. Getting over someone after days of total absence, realizing you never loved someone, realizing it was all fake like orange tan. Sprayed on, flaking on the edges.

Where did all promises go? When did I stop caring? When did I stop thinking about what once set my world on fire?

I can, I know I can. Sometimes it's just too damn overwhelming, it burns me inside out and it's just passion, intense, terrifying. Other times it's soft, easy. And then there's the time when I just need to do it, I have forced myself into it times aplenty, but there's always this ability, this easy detachment, flying out of myself and suddenly nothing matters anymore. Happy smile on the face, but really there's nothing behind it. It's just the mask over the void.

It used to be spontaneous, but now it's more a trick I can trigger, like I can trigger anything else in my mind, and the pictures painted on my brain's walls mean nothing anymore. I can fall in and out of love with you on the same evening, week after week. Makes me wonder if I cling to things because I'm scared of realizing I don't need or want them at all. Will I miss you if you're gone?

And why is that scary? Because then all my dreams are moot, and if all my dreams are moot, and all I fight for is myself, and I can be gone too, what's the point at all? So I stay stuck here, sitting on the fence. Do I really have to choose?

The three good things and the mistake

Smoke fills the room. Secondhand smoke that comes up through my open window.

I look at myself from above. Man, I look so pretty with the crimson skin and golden hair, almost like a Lannister cloak. I'm floating, floating, breath so shallow, smelling like vinegar and summer heat.

You see me from the outside, you see the real me. You say truth in the water, floating, floating, damn those crabs that try to get out. What was it that you said? "You love reading. You are creative. You don't allow yourself to be put down." She said "You are helpful. You have a natural ability to pull yourself out from a situation and look at it objectively, even when the situation is all about you. You are so open-minded and flexible."

Then it was the turn for the mistakes, the turn for the advices. I saw what he said, I saw what she said. I don't want to be that person anymore. I am not insecure, I'm just used to acting like that. I'm not a different person when I'm around strangers, I'm just used to acting like that. Othila inverted said don't stick to the old ways just because. They're not the right behaviour anymore, the situation has changed.

I'm ready to love myself, to see me from above. Head up when I come in the room, everybody's watching and I want to smile. I'm ready to be the best me.

Smoke comes in through the window, blue smoke, heady and strong.

Runa blanca

El universo se abre en patrones de luz ante mí, como una rosa tardía. Mi corazón late, paciente, constante, entre mis pulmones, que se llenan de mundo en cada bocanada. El sol entra por la ventana y ya no se en qué dirección están mis pies. Estallido de color, flores, sexo, la inmensidad contenida entre sus caderas. Manos y rostros emergiendo de la nada vacía, llena. Pidiendo un salto de fe.

5 de la mañana

¿Qué haces cuando un hombre llora? En mi experiencia, las mujeres, igual por lo que la sociedad enseña, somos de lágrima más fácil, pero cuando un hombre llora, sabes que su mundo se  ha derrumbado.

Ni a dos metros de mí, y sin embargo tan lejos, pues el respeto me impedía acercarme e interrumpir el momento de dolor en el que yo no tenía cabida. Simplemente mi silencio y sus palabras en voz quebrada. "Me pasé 16 años maravillándome de que una mujer como ella se enamorara de mí, y ahora tengo que maravillarme porque no está."

Yo no sabía que decir. Escuchaba sus lágrimas y las sentía mías, abrumada quizá por la verdad que albergaban. Al final rompí el silencio:

"¿Qué pasó? Nunca me quedó claro," pregunté, a lo que él me respondió que ella se negó a curarse, y él se dejó engañar como un tonto, pensando que en realidad sí que lo hacía. "En verdad qué estúpido he sido, si no fuera porque es una tragedia, deberían escupirnos."

Y se culpa, como todos quizá cuando ya no queda nadie a quien señalar, aunque a veces no hay culpables. Y le atormenta pensar que en vida, ella pensaba que él no la quería, y que cuando discutían, el se iba con otras mujeres y pensaba que si ella se iba no sufriría, pero ahora que ella se ha ido para siempre, la busca en otros rostros y no la encuentra. Me dice que no piense en mañana, que aprenda de un hombre viejo, que ame hoy, sin reservas ni condiciones, y yo sé que está en lo cierto.

Al final no queda nada que decir más que decir que solo recuerda lo bueno, que los malos momentos se evaporan. Abrazada a mi almohada, cierro los ojos y espero, escuchando sus quedos sollozos, a que me atrape el sueño, pensando 'allá donde estés, mujer, que sepas que te quiere Sergio.'

And miles to walk before I sleep

Escaping my screaming mind. It says 'run' but all I do is stick to the plan and stay for a little longer. Tomorrow may not come, and I don't want to be caught by dawn wheezing my lungs out. Can you sit here with me for a while? I don't care what happens, I don't give a fuck. When the bridge comes, we'll cross it, if we have to, but for now I want to sit down and soar.

I will burn myself, the fire's too close. I have done it  before, it's not like I didn't know. My mind is yelling at me to get away, but I stay. And it sounds like a voice, little in the beginning, tiny little voice that speaks almost shy but all too clearly. And it has been here, silent all these years.

I might step into the woods, never come out. I might lie watching the snow fall on me from the clouds. It looks so enticing, a hideout, a safe haven I can run away to. But this little voice that's becoming bigger says I can make it. Says fire burns, but no dragon is afraid of fire. So I stay, take baby steps towards today.

"[...]The woods are lovely, dark and deep, 
but I have promises to keep,
and miles to walk before I sleep,
And miles to walk before I sleep. "

Mess

I think he loves me more than you do. No matter what I do, in his eyes I'm sacred, I'm beautiful, I'm intelligent and a shinning star. I think he wants to be my significant other, and stay by my side, be the father of my babies and all that stuff. I think he would fight for me, I think he admires me, he cherishes me, he loves me because I am who I am.

I think that it sucks a lot, because I love you more than I love him. I think you are smart, and funny and complicated, and I think that you're sometimes a stranger, but I admire you, I cherish you, I love you because you are who you are.

I think I love him too, and despite the things that separate us, I would kiss him if I could, but he's in love with someone else, and yet I think he loves me more than you do.

Hair on the pillow

I have been in love. I have been loved back. I've been dumped, broken hearted, betrayed by the closest of friends, or even by myself. I've sabotaged my own good moments, lost things and people dear to me, broken arms, spent nights crying. I have climbed trees and mountains, smelled the pine trees, eaten raw seeds. I have befriended girls and boys alike, done exams, passed some, failed others. I have learned what it is to miss someone having them next to me. But beyond all that misery and joy, I have not faltered. I have found I'm in love with life in all its raw, unadultered nature. In that, I have found my own true strength.

And I aknowledge it, I will suffer. Unrequitted love, loss, maybe hunger and pain, who knows? But every single moment I live I know I have a purpose, I know which, and I have it engraved on my skin. For us is the world, for us I take it. Mornings in a haze of sleepy arrangements, water down my throat, scent of old paper and old stories, mint fresh in my healing hands. When things go down, I shall put my hands up, scream and enjoy the rollercoaster. With tunnel vision and a strange, new focus.

Sinergy

Like a river, down, down, to the big, blue, deep sea. In swift motions or freak jumps, snake in the water, flowing with the current. Taking the trip by train so you can enjoy the landscape, beautiful sculptures slowly chiselled by the unknown author. Finding that when you finally stop talking and listen instead, the world is full of colours and flavours. The beast in the throat wouldn't allow to hear it, wouldn't allow to see the unfiltered, untamed wonder of the simple being.

Are we or are we not?

I want to jump the gun. I want to take it slow. I want to say yes. I want to say no. I want it clear, but it can't be. I want to think what my heart wants and want what my head thinks. I want to be crazy. I want to be serene. I want the confusion, the illusion, the distilled sensations, the rush, the rain. I want to be thine, whoever that might be. I want to stay mine. I want to break away. I want to stick through this. I want to wreak havoc in thy mind, in thy heart. I want thee far. I want thee close. I guess I don't really know, but I wish I could jump the gun and jump into the pool, be it empty or full, yet a second it takes for thee to break what takes years to make.

Am I a modern Juliet again?

"O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?"

Carelessness of a boundary-free mind

What is life? What are we doing here? Who are we? Where are we going? Why is life this way? Why, what, who, where, when, how, why. Neverending questions to the endless soul. Us humans can be such curious creatures. Always asking, always wanting to know more, more about the world, life, universe, anything and everything. They come like waves in the sea of our minds, crashing, turning, twisting us around so we can try and seek an answer.

I used to be a question too. At some point maybe I was a who, other times I was what, or why, or... really, I've been all and I've been none. There was something soothing about it, probably the certainty that I existed. You can never be sure of that, but if someone is asking questions about you, you must be real for sure, something stable in this shifting reality we live in. That 'never knowing for sure', well, it can be pretty terrifying; that everything one ever associated with the SELF may be naught but an illusion. But truth is, if I'm allowed to speak of the truth as I see it, there's no need for confirmation. One is.

Nothing at this moment belongs to me and I am the owner of the world. I can see the colors shifting. I can see the world around me, but it's alien to me. It's at this point that nothing matters. People, those I sometime knew, are strangers to me now. I don't really know who I am anymore, either, or if I am at all, so there's nothing unsettling about it. I, I, I... what does that mean? What am I? I acknowledge that there is a 'me' somewhere, but I don't think it belongs to this body. I think, now, that this 'me' is bigger than that, and it's trying to get out.

"Where's my love?" Katie asks through the speakers, drunk and in a haze, a question that this one I share my space with has asked one too many times, a question never to be asked again. It doesn't matter anyway. Katie keeps singing 'lilac wine'. Takes this brain back to a time when it thought life would be harder than this, when it believed everything had an expiration date. When 'I' needed answers for it all. It has all taken a V turn since then, maybe growing up did its part, and a full blown dissociation syndrome has helped too. Nothing can end, I realized. Not when nothing can start. Ends, starts, all a disturbance of the mind, our way to try and figure out a world in shades of color when the paint is all the same. There was a moment in time when there was huge light that we created, and somewhere that remains. I need no more than that. 

You and I, we used to be the same, and I think we still are, I don't know for sure, I don't care. My soul speaks for my brain this time, and it says we are made of the same stardust, you with your bodyless voice and me with my voiceless body. Who needs voice when the eyes speak? Who needs a body when the soul can soar free?

Someone wonders if I'm ok. Of course I am. I have no real questions anymore, I seek no answers, I need none. Nothing bad can happen, because whatever happens is for the best, whether it keeps this body awake one night or not. I feel crazy, perhaps, in this meatsuit that's not mine anymore, breathing life and floating across the sky. I don't really know what I might have said that might have given the impression that I'm not fine. On the contrary, the fighting is over and the sun has come out again, to cast a light across the wounded and the healing, and a new cycle is bound to arrive. For the fight was within and not outside.

So who am I? Outside the battle, outside a body, outside the world and the universe, I am. There's no question of who, because I am me and I am you and I am everything in between. Bright burst of light or pure darkness, pure void. There's nothing to me but the eternal soul and that is the universe in itself, and everything beyond, and nothing. I am contradiction, I am terrifying. I am terrified. I am a whisper.

We humans can be wretched creatures, but not without hope.

More than anything, there's filth. Filthy words, filthy stares, filthy scents and filth, filth, filth. It's all rotten to the very core, so much so that anyone wanting to save it would find himself wanting. Short of cutting off the roots and planting a new seed, there's naught to be done. It smells like stale air and stale promises, moldy like bread under the rain. And there's so much that was promised. Life, love, changes for the better, security, a family maybe, a home. All gone, all broken by a windy gust.

I used to believe we'd share the world, but now we try to rip it from each other's mouth -that is, when we don't try and rip each other's throat-, and soon there will be nothing left but ashes to share. And yet, I, ever the believer, want to create a space of peace in all this whirlwind that surrounds us, because still there are reasons why my heart skips a beat, there are things that make me swoon, even in the backseat of an old bus, even alone. I planted my roses and hoped against hope that they would grow roots strong. Am I mistaken for thinking there's still a chance we can be happy? Am I foolish?

Ray in the window

Platonic kiss, in my dream. I've never seen you shine so bright. Your hands, chaste, keep a distance from my face. I watched it happen, thinking of big trees and minestrone, as I hugged you close. I can't shake the feeling that I would love your scent around me.

I like that we can be in the moon together yet never touch. I like the way veiled comments can be tossed around and we can share loving words, while never admitting to our feelings. I like it because it's rare, because it's true.

Under

So this was your idea. Did you think I'd sit tight and say yes? I don't need a reminder of what this has become, of how obvious it is, your space in my bed. I place a pillow to fill the room that your skin won't take. And I'm becoming increasingly aware of how, whenever I get somewhere you make me take two steps back. Of how my shadow, my lion, my mirror, I'm you and you're me, but that can't work out anymore. I never doubted that me is what this is, but maybe it's time to find a new meaning. Come home? It's been a long time.

Night headaches.

Stars. Tightly wound together by the silver thread of nothingness. I'm beautiful under them, with them. Silent, burning, far from here. Leaning towards the notion that there's such a thing as too much. All the right reasons sometimes take you to the wrong path, though it may seem nonsensical. Not that I'm walking it, but maybe I'm eager to. Maybe I want to go down the lane of the easy, detached individuals. Thinking maybe I will say no this time.

Locked lips

Under burdening circumstances. Is there regret? I can't say. I know that I don't know what I want to know. What is this, anyway? Do I want it, or am I just going on by muscle memory? Lips locked and eyes closed, I walk away and let it go.

Greener pastures on the other side of the sidewalk.

What is and what should never be

Designed by a cosmic fluke. Fail one single time, once, and the whole thing is broken. This balance we dangle on, they take for granted, but I don't. I know that there's no future but the future that there is, and maybe there are maybes that need to go unanswered, but I want anyway. I want today, I want it now, I need it now. To know, perhaps, that there's enough of it for me to be taken, for me to be considered a fleeting being, something that may leave any second, cherished for that, kept close.

It may not make sense, because nothing's written and nothing's forever, but in my dream there's life and love, and, dare I say? Will. There's a will, so there must be a way, somehow. Sooner or later, I'll get that, I'll get that place I know I deserve, that special place where no one else can fit. But maybe by then it's too late. By coincidence or by design.

Marriage?

"Marry me."

"You have to be kidding me. Again."

"No kidding. Marry me. I'll say it as many times as I have to."

Stuck in a catch-22, damned if I do, damned if I don't. Would love to say yes. Would love to love him. And maybe I like him, a lot. True friend and ever-present, he can be my platonic would-be, and I can dream all I want, it's fine. The feeling that something's got to give never comes, never the crash, never the fall.

"You're stuck with me for a long while."

"Please."

Admirable, how he turns my world upside-down, how he makes my frowns become smiles, how unfair this is. Unfair because I'm still learning. He's learning, too. I'd love to kiss his hands, to set the both of us free. And maybe then we can eat cranberries like crazy while road-tripping through Lousiana all the way to the North Pole. We'd make a damn fine couple too.

So maybe I'm not marrying you... yet.

In the after-shower

Can it work? I'm not willing to play my hoodoo, so I can only wish and hope. Sometimes that's enough, time proved that, but I'm becoming tired of the push and pull tug-o-war game, so I loosen my hold on the rope, not drop it, but see what happens with that. Maybe, who knows, by the time the time comes, what will happen then.

For the time being, a trip to underland and welcoming arms in my dreams.

Roadtrip

I'm finding myself out of my comfort zone. Not sure which path to take, just that I have to go forward. I may go and find myself what I look for, or I may keep trying to stay the best. There's a certain something uncomfortable about that, maybe that I can't be the best forever, and I want to be the best even when I'm not at my strongest. I may reach out for the vast unknown or I may stay and see what happens, and maybe this is home, but I'm in for a roadtrip. Who knows, if it has to be, it will be.

Voyeur

Looking through the one-way mirror, spying on things unreachable. I see it, like augmented reality, like a reality show, privy to a world where I don't belong anymore. Turned into something new and refined and different and so much not like you while I wasn't looking, and now I am left staring at you instead of just seeing through you, opaque wall of granite. I don't know who you are, I realize. It seems familiar, but it's not. You seem to be here, but you're gone.

Frustración

Es tener tantas cosas y no poder cogerlas, sentir piel contra piel y quedarme callada, escuchar reir y no ser la causa. Frustración, pero leve pena, dulce y sin profundidad.

What you are.

That which we fight for defines who we are. Strip me bare of all the material things, of all comodities I have. Leave me naked and fighting to survive, and the question is sure to arise: 'what do I fight for?'. Doubts and fears aside, little there is in life that I would die for, but there's enough that it makes life worth living.

My family first, family meaning all those close to me that I can't and won't live without, those whose smile light up my days, those whose embrace fends off the dark of my darkest hour.

Then, art. I live off of artistic stimulation. Love, made true through notes, letters, ink, sand and whatever that will make my mind go numb with unadultered beauty. Fragile, aggressive, untouchable. Man-made or nature, for nature is the greatest artist.

So all in all, there is a conclusion to be reached. Love, in all its forms and shapes, is what I live for, what I would fight for, what I am.

What are you?