24 years ain't enough

You may not have been my grandmother by blood, but you sure were family. You cured my scraped knees when I fell to the ground, and gave me sweets on weekend evenings, and taught me how to cook and how to be tender. You showed me love through kindness and faith in me. My smiles were sincere when they reciprocated yours, and I truly believed that if I had been your granddaughter by blood, you wouldn't have loved me more.

Tonight you will sleep and you will rest. It may have been too much, the pain, and the only thing I wish was different was that I would have loved to be there. I wish I could have held another conversation with you, let you teach me yet another recipe, let you show me through your everlasting tenacity how I want to be at some point.

And I may have tears in my eyes and a heavy weight in my heart, but I'm glad we met in this life. You may not be here tomorrow, but the love remains the same.

Runas y hemoglobina

Pienso coger la cuchilla más afilada que encuentre y reescribir Inguz, Kano y Eihwaz sobre tu piel, una y otra vez, hasta que tu cuerpo se rinda y quede una cicatriz plagada de recuerdos de dolor, placer y tú y yo. Pienso dejarte coger la cuchilla más afilada que encuentres y que reescribas Inguz, Kano y Eihwaz sobre la piel de mi cadera, sangre y alcohol, para que quede para siempre escrito lo que dijimos aquella mañana, tras volver del castillo, para que nunca se olvide que un día nos vimos con el alma al desnudo, nos asomamos al vacío de dentro, y encontramos un espejo.

A dying star

Suddenly, without knowing where from or why, the strength is back. I'm on my way to a dying star, bursting with light, burning with heat that comes from within, and I know, I know that it will be fine. Xibalba, baby.

Of red and pink parachutes

And here I thought I saw clear, when I couldn't have been more mistaken. I thought my sight wasn't blurry anymore, but it was a fluke of the mind, it was madness all along. And I don't really know how, or why or when, but it was there, the deceitful promise. And I believed it. I thrived on it.

It doesn't really make sense, come think about it, if past experience's anything but a lesson to be learned, but I believed it. Again, I believed it. For fuck's sake! How many times do I have to trip on a stone before I figure out there's a stone there? I thought that hey, I couldn't infer a future result from past situations, that it only took one time to refute all my theories and hypothesis. Boy, was I blind.

Well, fuck that. I know better now.

Because it's been years already since anyone's looked at me the way he looked at her. Because it's been 2 weeks and all of 3 failed attempts at getting him to meet me are telling me I should really back the fuck off. Because the same can be said about... just about anyone else, really. Because I spent a day in between covers and the only one noticing something strange was so far away he's out of my reach.

So I'm thinking that I'll stop trying, I'll be better off that way. If anything comes (and my mind really still wants to tell me that it's not if, but when), I'll figure out what to do with it. Until then, me and my cat sounds about right.

Tales of kite tails

G is dark and handsome. G is warm and lonesome. G takes me high, drops me down, picks me up. Always picks me up.

My insides shiver and stutter, G's scent clouding my judgement. Hard and heavy, bruised and broken. Trace his scars with my fingertips, groan, moan. Fuck, if this is what it feels like, I can't stop myself from screaming, hear my rugged breath over G's big, beating heart. Always on edge.

G comes back up, G dips his head lower, arousal a heady scent in the air. G's kisses are soft and tasting like myself, the tangy-salty flavour of a high coming down. I'm liquid all over, stretched over him, dropping lazy bites on his lips. "You OK?" Yes, yes, oh fuck, yes. G's big, beating heart is hammering a fast tempo against his ribs, though the rush of the moment is gone already and it's all a haze. G tries to kiss me. I let him. Always let him.

Changes

Time may change me, but I can't change time.

Situations may change me as much as I can change them. Things go back and forth like a ball in a game, one step forward, one step backward, one step to the left and how the hell did I end up here? I think I must have stepped in a loophole, a wormhole or another hole of a different kind.

In the end the only thing that stays is the determination I have to make it work. Steely, unbreakable determination to see this through, mostly unscathed.

Of werewolves and survival

It's somewhere deep inside my mind, lurking in the shadows, eating at my resolve. "You are nothing but a dark pit I spent too many years trying to climb out. I'm not going to let you drag me back down," the one guy says. A noncommittal shrug and back to square one. We've been dancing around each other for too long. You go, I follow. I go, you follow. I go, I kill you, I try. I disappear, you smoke me out of my hiding place. I kill you once and for good, except... not quite. You always come back to drag me in your bog of eternal stench.

I dance around some more. Try to forget how you said you were the one, while Brian tiresomely said that it didn't really matter. He was the king of the alley (mama) and I kissed his breath away right there. A dance pole, a greaser and the winehouse. Which brings me (fuck chaotic mental connections) to the current predicament I'm in, because man, I was ok, and then this woman has to come and tell me that there might still be more to this, that the water fountain is not sucked dry, just tainted. That the gravity never goes, even if one loses interest. If one loses count of the times one lost interest.

It never matters, because as I said, this time I killed you for good. I've grown a spine tougher than steel and roots the size of California and this time you can't sway me. I breathe your poison before it even gets here. I answer the phone. I let you go.

(Until the next time you come knocking to my doorstep, like a freaking elephant in a glass house (that sinks ships))