29-04-25

I have seen the most beautiful things in the world. I have seen the city from the top of a cathedral. I have seen kittens being born. I have seen cemeteries from kingdoms past. Sunsets by the beach, and love in a lover's eyes. 

I have seen the ocean breathe like a sleeping beast. I have seen a glittering gold lake amidst the greenery. I have seen hundreds of pigeons take flight at the same time like so many angel wings beating in unison. I have seen stars fall. 

But there's a moment engraved in my mind's eye, a moment so beautiful the rest seem like a mockery of beauty. When I saw your face for the first time, when you were crying like your life depended on it -it did- and then they put your face next to mine and I said your name like some sacred word only I know, and you stopped crying like my familiar voice had soothed your soul that had been scared for the first time ever. 

So many beautiful moments since, that compete for my attention. Every time you smile, goodness that smile. Every time you set your eyes on mine. Every time you reach out for me with those hands that resemble mine so much. Every time my voice soothes you, like a magic mantra. Every time I think of getting to know you, and yet knowing I already do, in the deepest sense of the word, in the profound way you know someone when you've shared a body and blood. 

Love was born that day, 29th as per family tradition, and that is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. 

Bubbles

It's late in this Sunday morning, sleeping in. Chilly, but I don't feel cold with so many warm bodies. I had a dream so intense, of love at the edge of life, where everything was yellow, and I wake up, still reeling from it. 

I need to get up, for the hudredth time, to make a trip to the bathroom, but it feels so good here, so warm. And then I feel it, like the fluttering tails of some brightly coloured fish, bubbles exploding inside of me. My boy, my prince of some mermaid tale I loved as a child, telling me to fucking get up now or else... 

I love you, even if you are so annoying. 

The journey

Growing inside of me like a weed grows in a garden. Wreaking havoc, taking up every resource, but wild, alive and beautiful all the same. 

Your heart is growing right now, so now I have two beating hearts. Tucked safe in my belly, making me sick, making me ache, making me cry day and night, and laugh in delirious happiness too. 

What an incredible journey has started. What adventures lie ahead. I'm scared, but who isn't? Life will happen anyway. Love will happen anyway. 

I hope I can be everything you need me to be. I know that I will try. And I hope I can still be what I need me to be, I hope you'll understand. 

The red poppy seed

I knew of you before it was even possible. My mom said I was mad, only one day had passed, yet I know my body and I knew it was different. Changed. 

I felt you, every little tug. Every breast ache, every mild cramp. And when that first line appeared, I thought I would die, I was so happy, so excited. You had burrowed into my heart along with my womb, and so, so fast. I marvel to think the depth of the love that would have grown with you. 

And then the bleeding began. 'Don't fret' said my friend. Implantation bleeding they call it, it's normal, it's ok. But then it got worse, life was draining out of me like so many teardrops. And then you were gone. No more lines. Nothing but those pictures I took of them to show proof of your existance. A small bundle, tiny as a a poppy seed, but big enough to fill up my heart. 

A month has gone by, and it's silly because you were nothing but a cluster of possibility, yet to me you were the wispy clouds of dreams materialized, the growing life that would arrive to turn mine and your dad's upside down. He was sad too, you know. He touched my belly like it was something sacred, like it held the secrets to the universe, when he saw those lines. But he'll be ok, he didn't feel you inside like I did. 

I'll be ok too, thanks to you. They say some of the cells of an embryo migrate to the mother's tissue wherever there is damage, to heal it. I like to think you are still growing inside my scars, making me stronger.

Goodbye my baby. I'll let you sleep forever where the soul rests. 

The final countdown

The days are long when you wait for something, they say, but not this time. It has come faster than I could expect it to, faster than I could be ready for. 

Last minute planning is still ongoing and saturday is there at the turn of a corner. Excited, nervous, hoping that I'll get everything right, that all deliveries arrive on time, that I won't forget my words, that I won't step on that dress and fall. Just realizing that I have no idea, we have not yet rehearsed the knot. It's lovely, isn't it? How we're still stumbling about. 

But with all our fights, and all our messes, and all our troubles and bad moments, still home is when I put my head on your chest and you tuck me in closer, and I feel your warmth and your ticklish chest hair, and I can hear your wonky breath and your heartbeat and I'll fall asleep like that without intending to because I just feel so relaxed. 

So May the Force (fourth) be with us on this journey we'll be starting. 

Finding it

It's a perfect moment. Conversation flows like machine gun. It's insane, it's uncomfortable, it's like coming home. 

The wondrous feeling of connection to a bigger thing. Of belonging. Of friendship that feels real for once. Of being me. 

There is peace in being me and being accepted for it. I love my rainforest. 

A story worth telling

In a month and a day we'll be choosing the day we'll remember for the rest of our lives. 

It's a whirlwind these days. Choices to make, money to spend, so, so much planning, I mean, look at that crown, look at that dress! But there's also the undercurrent. The underground river of truth beyond all this, your hand in mine. 

From the day that we met when I was 19 and the idea of forever seemed foreign, to this day where we quibble about how to hang up the clothes and who steals each other's side of the bed. The night we talked about science and brains. The dawn on the park bench. Our jokes, but also our depths, you seeing me at my worst, me doing the same. Finding meaning in being you and me against the world. The way you understand how my devious mind works. The silly nights before going out singing Alphaville from the top of our lungs. Lussy. 

With you I experienced the worst losses I ever felt. With your arms around me I heal from it. I hope I can help you heal too. And still the best feeling in the world is getting in bed with my cold feet on your warm legs. The underground river of truth is in the way you support my dreams, in the way you make even the bleak days seem brighter, and in the fact that only you would know that I would love a bouquet of vorticella. 

This truth is that we're not only lovers but friends. We were friends for so long before it became something else. And that the only thing that makes sense in this world is that you sat on that table that late night where I sat with my back turned to yours. It was written in the stars. And so now we sign some papers and choose some date and have a party and it's such a stress, but I'm happy because it's you. 

Ours is a story worth telling. 

Hearts

I used to think highly of Valentine's day. I dreamed of the pretty gifts, the romantic dates, the kisses, the caresses. 

I used to think there was nothing more romantic than a rose bouquet and a thoughtful gift, holding hands on the street. Silly me. 

I've since come to learn that the most romantic gift is knowing that tomorrow, when the hearts disappear from the store windows, you will still be sleeping by my side, keeping my feet warm, you'll still worry that I forgot my gloves, you will still look for gifts for me, kiss me when I get home and tell me I'm beautiful before I put my makeup on. 

Love is not found in grand gestures some days of the year, love is found in the small things, and our life is full to the brim. 

Still, happy Valentine's, my love. 

Remember winter 2022

Gone are the words I had left to say. 

With the spring of our lives still hot in our heels, karaoke nights and days for the deers. Snow can wait, I have hot coals burning my pockets. 

There was so much, so much I wanted to say but I forgot it. I left all those words in between blankets and broken closets. Houses I will never visit again, beds I never slept in. Chile flakes burning my tongue, cats scratching my hand, and those karaoke nights. They all stole the words from me. 

All the puzzle pieces of that picture from which to take without thinking, yet new pieces keep coming -the spring is still warming. It's a new picture, same but older, same but different, same but wordless. All the words that were forgotten. 

And we eat grapes but we don't hear the music, and we go to our place and burn through our stupid, and I see the words that I wrote while we were off our faces 'remember winter 2022'. 

'What the fuck are perfect places anyway'. 

30

Treinta años. 

Treinta años de historia, locura, pasión, poesía, amor, desamor, huesos rotos y almas rotas, reflejados en mi cuerpo en cicatrices y estrías. En fotografías que guardo de noches eternas y días rápidos. 

Mi cabello rubio ya muestra canas, la arruga en mi frente de levantar la ceja desde que era bebe está cada vez más marcada. Los años de sentarme junto al teléfono esperando una llamada quedaron atrás. Los he cambiado por años sentada junto a mi amor y mi perra bajo una manta. Por músculos fuertes de caminar horas, bajo el sol o la lluvia, kilómetros sin fin entre árboles y montañas, entre mesas y cocina y la barra de un bar. 

He cambiado las barbies por bolígrafos, los dinosaurios por un teclado, pero el espíritu es el mismo: jugar, soñar, contar historias. Ahora tengo mi casa, y ya no leo historias a la luz de una linterna bajo las mantas para que mamá no lo sepa, las leo en el móvil bajo las mantas para no molestar a mi pareja. 

He cambiado, sí, mucho. Ahora estoy más calmada, respiro más y mejor, los años me han dado perspectiva, los problemas tienen otro tamaño. Y tuve problemas, problemas grandes, soledad, perder una casa (dos), mantener en mi vida a quien no debía, a quien no me quería, perder a algunos que quería mucho, que se fueron a donde yo no podía seguirles. Hubo gente que me hizo mucho daño, pero de eso solo quedan cicatrices y aprendizajes. 

He cambiado, pero ciertas cosas siguen igual. Mis ganas de vivir, mi sed de aventuras, sólo han crecido. Dormir bajo las estrellas, contando perseidas, perseguir tarántulas y cazar ranas, correr por las calles de Madrid, descubriendo rincones, y esas noches de besos a cuatro, de sexo sin miedos, aquella noche de moros con mi novio y mi no-novia, con alcohol en las venas y algodón en la cabeza. 

Treinta años, y eso me da miedo. Siempre he tenido miedo de estar malgastando el tiempo, de no estar viviendo cosas que luego me arrepentiré de no haber vivido, me asomo al abismo y me da vértigo. Por eso tengo que pararme de vez en cuando y hacer recuento, porque he vivido, estoy viviendo. Este año nos perdimos con las bicicletas, sin agua, bajo el sol de junio. Nos escapamos a Valencia una noche, a cantar karaoke y tocar Marte. 

Caminamos bajo las estrellas tras 30 km, ese día nos sentamos en un tronco, medio helados, y no muy seguros de dónde estábamos, sólo para comer un bocadillo viendo la niebla.

Pasamos 8 días comiendo comida hecha en un hornillo y durmiendo en una tienda de campaña que parecia una casa, en especial para las arañas, corriendo por el monte y follando casi en público, y jugando con pistolas de agua como si fuéramos niños. Y aquella noche de Enero que nos escapamos al campo a ver como caían estrellas fugaces, congelados y abrazados, en una noche sin luna, comiendo un bocadillo. He comido comida tradicional senegalesa.

Este año ha sido bueno. 

Treinta años hago mañana, y que sigan viniendo. 

Goodbye

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

Supernova

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. 

Cambios

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.

Summer

Like madness. Witnessing the death and rebirth of a phoenix in the flames that we made. Falling in the pit and coming out again. I see it through fractured glass, silent company and drunken kisses, and the flames. It burns and we burn with it. It laughs and we laugh with it. Like madness, in your arms I feel free.

These bonds are shackle-free.

Hold me down (try)

I'm well acquainted with the demons under my bed, know them by name, greet them when they pass me by. I've no qualms in making them come out.

I'm well acquainted with the feelings and the absence of them. Like a switch inside my head, I turn them on and off, only losing control around the ones I trust, I'm battle hardened enough.

Funny to recall how human I seemed to be, twisted inside out by lies and deceit. Guess there were bigger monsters than me.

But much has happened, then and now and in between. Much growing. I've seen loss up close, I've shrugged my shoulders and let it all go. I've used that pretty mask, and they all fall for it, like a moth to a flame. And there are these quaint little circles with not much room in them. Some fall inside, some I pushed out, but don't ask me to care what happens to the people outside. There's no use.

So the monsters have all gone and thrown a stupid tantrum, thinking that it would be alright, that they can go and hurt what's mine. I've said it before, touch what's mine, I break your hands. You're too damn stupid.

Smart monsters don't pick on people that have a monster guarding them. And I'm the biggest, meanest monster in the room. So go get hiding.

Daily cuddle time

This is my every morning. I open my eyes, feel that small weight on my chest, and know she's there, demanding love. And so ensues a time of purrs and caresses, and kneading and bunting, and failure to do so results in tiny, adorable bites to my fingers, hands, arms or really whatever's close to her mouth. It's quite alright, baby, you can demand love from me all you want.