Starved for your touch...

...and counting the seconds to have you back in my arms.

Forgiveness?

It's simple, really simple. You touch what's mine, I break your hands. Give me half a chance and you'll see, cause there isn't anything that is more mine than my own blood, flesh and bones made half the same, and I'll die defending it like a crazy mother cat. You touch what's mine and you dare to laugh? I dare you to come out of your hiding, I dare you to face me half a second. What a coward you are. But you know what? I'm a bad bitch holding a grudge, and I have too good of a memory. We'll meet down the lane sometime again, and I'll remember that you didn't ask for forgiveness. You'll never hurt him again.

WET

Burning, aching, panting, gasping, sweating, wet.

Like cookies and cream

Day after day. It's in the little things, the little kisses, the small stuff. Rubbing alcohol on my skin when I get an infection. Yelling at you when I'm upset and still you give me a hug and tell me you're on my side. Accepting my weird things, my obsessions, my crazyness. The way you look at me when I get undressed. When I dance around the room, uncoordinate and giggling. When I climb on walls. When I look at you.

It's day after day, because we go together like cookies and cream.

"Sonrie"

I see this. Chalkboard full of what's new. Opportunities not missed, chances taken and odds in our favour. I see this new start. I see us here. I wish us luck.

The road to a dying star

By accepting our own mortality and realizing the finite and unique nature of every life, every second, every choice we make is turned sacred, every moment we live is turned magic. In our own mortality lies the meaning of life.

"Death is the road to awe" - the Fountain.

Coincidencias

Si no hubiera tenido sed a esa hora, si no hubieramos parado en el gym del parque, si no hubieramos hecho esa escapada por el bosque del monte del castillo, o escogido ese camino, no hubieramos viajado gratis hasta casa en autobús privado.

Si te hubieras quedado en Madrid, si yo no hubiera mencionado la neurociencia aquella noche, si no hubieramos tenido contacto aquel día que fuimos a Correos, si no hubiera tenido aquel sueño, si esa mañana no hubiera dicho que 'a tomar por culo' (las mejores decisiones siempre van precedidas de un 'a tomar por culo'), ni tu ni yo seríamos los mismos, sentados en este sofá. 

Si hace tantos años, la casualidad no hubiera partido la unidad en dos, no tendría tus alas en mi espalda.

A veces las cuerdas vibran en la frecuencia adecuada y suena una nota mágica.

Raspberries

Dulces. Acarician mis labios, mis dedos, con su textura húmeda y aterciopelada. Estallan en notas de placer sobre mi lengua, con su sabor ligeramente ácido, profundamente satisfactorio. Me regodeo en su color rosado, en su aspecto jugoso, en la forma en que encajan sobre mis dedos. Es un juego de sabores, ácido y dulce y un final intenso, algo amargo quizá, solo en algunas, pero siempre etéreo. Después de una cena perfecta, una tarde de verano, con la brisa cálida meciendo las hojas de los árboles. El final perfecto, el postre ideal, su jugo sobre mi lengua casi llevándome al éxtasis.

Ah, los pequeños placeres de la vida.

Dragon Scales

Eight years. Eight years and I'm only now learning how to trust again, myself and others. Long enough, huh? Long enough to see how twisted the truth became. Long enough to see that what he did was wrong. Yet I was blind. There was a time I would have killed to do anything for him, to get him back, and I did. Oh boy, was I manipulated into bending myself over backwards...

I have come to learn that when a person wants you, they want you, and they will do what it takes to have you and keep you, not throw you away at the very next chance. I have come to learn that 'you look ridiculous doing that, why are you so awkward/weird?' does NOT mean 'I care for you and I'm just trying to help you out'. It doesn't help me out, it just makes me feel unsure of myself. If he was always so ashamed of me, if he always thought so low of me, then I don't see how he could want to be with me. How he could ever say 'I love you'.

No, I don't think he thought so low of me. I think he, on some level, wanted me to think low of myself, because I believe he doesn't know any other way to make someone stay. There's a pattern I cannot ignore. I like you is followed by I love you, then I want to be with you forever, then you're not good enough, then I leave you, then I can't stop thinking about you, then no one compares to you, then I like you, then I love you... (never mind that at some points he was with someone else). I guess he couldn't stop giving me false hope, could he? He couldn't stop lying, cheating, calling me names, having me as the bullet in the locker, in case all else fails, and in between all that, some sweets to keep me wanting more. And that hooks you, trust me, it does. It makes you fall for him in a Stockholm Syndrome-ish fashion.

It took seeing him do all the things he did to me to someone else, to realize that that's his game he's playing. 

So he's done good things. Yes, he has. All the good times, all the things he did for me, all the moments when he made me feel good, those are stored and treasured, but truth is, they're tainted. Tainted with the knowledge that it was the rose in between the thorns, designed to make you stay by taunting you with its beauty, telling you that maybe this time he really cares, he really wants you there. But it's never so. The thorns tear you into shreds before you can reach the rose and keep it. And it has profoundly altered me. Like some PTSD sufferer, I still feel myself waiting for the other shoe to drop when anything seems ok, like nothing good can ever last long. And that, my dear, is the result of years of learning that that's just how things work.

Because everything I did was wrong. From the music I listened to, to the friends I had, to the way I interacted with people. I was tried and I was found lacking, in every aspect and every sense. And now I look to myself and I still have trouble trusting my instincts, trusting myself, my choices, the things I like. Like I need his stamp of approval on anything before I give it a shot.

But all in all, everything said and done, I have finally severed all ties, and I'm brave enough to speak up, to scream that I'm still here, stronger than ever, scarred but alive and free. He wanted reasons? There are the reasons. He was toxic, he hurt me so deeply I don't know if some wounds will ever heal, he made me feel worthless and used, pushed me away but never dropped the leash, like I was some kicked puppy. I regret the day I made the leash tougher to break by asking for something that took me too long to return so I could pay my debts and leave (and I know he's going to throw it in my face for as long as we both live). Yet, as I said, all ties are severed now, I owe nothing so I can now fly away and lick my wounds elsewhere, with two kindred souls by my side that I trust will hold up my wings when I don't have the strength anymore.

And enjoy the dragon scales I've grown, so pretty and blue-green and shimmery and unbreakable.

Segundos

Tres milisegundos. Es lo que tardó mi cerebro en registrar sus ojos grises. Su piel pálida y cabello de Targaryen. Sus labios hechos para ser mordidos. Tres milisegundos en los que atendí al funeral de todo raciocinio.

De una mano la infancia que no puedo dejar atrás, de la otra el sentido de la compostura, y si pudiera me habría cortado sendas manos solo por el milagro de acariciar esos labios con los míos. Ella me miró, con esa sonrisa tímida que me llenó el estómago de mariposas.

Creí conocerla de siempre, aunque no recuerde una cara como la suya. Y durante unos segundos, aunque nuestros cuerpos jamás llegaron a tocarse, aunque se interpusieron entre nosotras hasta obligarnos a perdernos de vista, durante unos gloriosos segundos en los que nuestras miradas se cruzaron, su alma le hizo el amor a la mía.

Tu me compras pan

Bowie. Lana del Rey. Salsa de setas. Miau. Lussy-luska-Lussluss. Mis 6, tus 6. PGB. Jurassic pizza. Aelfar a Rafa. Orbitas mascoteadas. Efecto Doppler. Singularidades. Quarktos y queso quark del Lidl. Cheese tacos nube. Gafas siNpaticas. La cucaracha y otros desvaríos de 22N. Revelaciones. Sudokus. Moratones que yo no he sido. Café de arrope y té amargo. 3Marzo. Tus runas, mis runas. Corazones de tinta. Vika y sus uñitas. Camisa lila y pantalón verde=eres una flor de lavanda. Glenfiddich a palo seco. Fotos en una estación de tren. Dexter o el fetiche del rojo. Cinturones escondidos en mis cajones. Fin de semana en casa. Anillos cloddagh que no se aclaran sobre su estado marital. Tus ansias de crunch y mis ansias de ponerme a hacer cosas de decoración a las 2 de la madrugada. Muffins y cupcakes de menta y chocolate porque ew pero por ti hasta fabada. Bolitas de pelusa. Pelusa al irme. Te quiero en sordomudo. Las 3 mantas de gato y perro, que siempre acaban en un solo lado de la cama -y no es el mío, no me importa lo que digas-. Mariposas en azul y negro purpurina. Tener a mis demonios delante, y que te pongas a hablar con ellos del tiempo. Hacer de interprete entre tú y el mundo. Dejarme caer de espaldas con los ojos cerrados porque sé que nunca voy a llegar a tocar el suelo, porque si hay una sola armadura de diamante, tu te la quitas para dármela a mí aunque vengan zombies, y en ultima instancia siempre podemos hacer /TP. Y sino, a Xibalba. Pero no sin antes prenderle fuego al mundo.