You

I am watching to the emptiness becaise I to fly. I can't stop  thinking about how many birds crossed the sky before me, I want to be like them, but with my own style. I dont know  if my wings are strong enough to withstand the flight, but my heart becomes tachycardia just for wanting to fly.  My talent  is not the best. But knowing that,  I want to  fly very far, very high. My wishes every day expand more, I do not think what will hapoen to me if I keep my feet on the ground. All my forces are targeted for summer breezes. All goes well until I remember you, that's when I become a sad bird caged in your dreams.

A story with a bit of Christmas Spirit

I've always been curious. Since I was a kid   I have had a why? for each argument. But, I love to believe in those things that defy the  reason, in those things that just can be  explained with these strange  feelings that are inside of  us. That's why I like to invent and that's why I want to tell this, a  story that I read after I imaginated it. 

It was a December night, a star had been hung in the sky like one of those pins that indicates where you should go. The baby Jesus was born. Much has been talked about this, it has come down to us and in fact we celebrate those dates. However now there are millions of stars in the sky, some fleeting and more brilliant than the others. But history tells us that the bright star that guided the Magi from the East to Bethlehem, never as been viewed again. At least, I think that the star did not disappear, but it was divided into thousands of luminous particles and took shelter in the eyes of excited children. That bright spark, lives in families that show their love. In the windows of souls that help those who in need it. The star store it in a slight clearly that we in the eyes, and that light is still there to guide our way.

No matter what belief you have, but there is always a light to guide us, real or imagined, that light is always on. If someday your light goes out don't  worry, because in the sky there are millions of bright stars, each one illuminating a different path for you. I no longer wonder why there is a magic shine in the eyes of many people.

Letter to the wind

You are elderly, but you run fast. In the most beautiful evenings with your caress in my cheek, you draw me a smile. In the warmer days you make me feel cool, in the coldest nights you freeze me. You are smile, you are also sadness, when you get angry you destroy everything, tornado or hurricane you take back the thing you have given.  You're a breath of life and death, joy and punishment. . How many have not been able to say his last words because you run out of their senses? Where do you go when I don’t see you, when I don’t feel you, when you don’t a leaf? I do not care, but wind, who has inhaled you, who has raised his voice to protest. Tell me how many times you have whispered the song of love in the ears of the lovers. Tell me wind, the true history of the world, you know it, your eyes have cried wars, your autumnal breezes have dried the paintings by Michelangelo. And do not deny it, your arms air has held metal birds, birds of feather, and birds with broken dreams that fell from the heights. Please tell me about the deceptions speeches, whether those of Hitler or any virtuous politician. Note that I just want to know, because someone should tell us, where are the ashes of the deceased leaved at your luck, or if you're a great friend of the death. Please wind; tell me about the lies, about the superstitions of broken mirrors, about witches burned amid riots. Wind you're still alive, because death does not reach you, give me one second of your time do me a favor. With your magic transparent, go to the deeper part of a laugh and  get out of there very discreet. Please tell me to ear, of all, their secrets.

Give me reasons

Give me reasons to believe in you, to trust you, to give to you my life. Give me reasons to be happy with you, give me reasons to believe in myself. Please give me reasons to dream with you. Give me reasons to love you. But do it faster, because I have reason to forget you. 

Once upon a man who wanted a heart of stone

He was there in the middle of the square, he was stunned. Maybe he was tired of feeling the things that happened to him. From that place, where he was standing, he could not see what was happening behind him. He, human  lintel molded sheltered himself under a wet wing that to his cheeks were tears. So much suffering, no one accompany him, no one ventured to touch his cold skin. I do not understand. Just remember to be always in the same place, seeing periods of sun and rain; Occasionally a rainbow. Without the strength to move, man feels his feet insanely tied to the concrete. His soul in contraposto dropped his dreams into nothingness.

  Behind him  sat a boy; but he never saw him. He’s fixed torso looking to a blind horizon, would not allow him to see the young man, full of emotions, that sat behind him to perfume absences. The man had the strength to move, to take risks. Behind his back a young boy coincided with a young girl. The man, who necessarily had his back to them, felt how the warm marble muse whispered in the guy’s ear the words that make him take the hand of the young lady. It took many seconds, minutes, days, hours and nothing changed, all died in warm farewells that love moon refused to see.

The man who only felt those goodbyes, thought they both deserve the opportunity to make a revolutionary eternal farewell, staying together. However, one night after the usual farewell never seen those young again. Everything faded, sounds departed in night light to be quiet for the loud wind that cooled the man's sword. What a suffering for the motionless man who expected to feel at least the tension weaving spiders destination dying between the two attracting magnets hidden. Sadness worsened his situation, in front of him cross some people who loved and were happy apparently. But there was nothing worse than those who photographed her sad image. Everyone walked away. He did not appreciate anyone who accompany him, then started to have the idea that the slightest gesture of affection end in suffering. One evening before his eyes fell a paper saying: "It is better to suffer for love, than wither on the discomfort of not suffer."

Instantly he reminded the young couple and seeing how they ended those meetings, could not do anything than let the scorn and a bluish pain encase it. Thinking that always end like this he refused to any act of love and affection, to the point that on the bench behind him no one that feel love seat again. Colder than ice made the flowers wither in gray clouds. Everything was dying nothing left around. In one morning he felt something of life that was consuming him. Looking at his empty and fixed horizon said to himself: I want to have a heart of stone.

It was so deep his desire that came to the ears of the doer of impossible, the destination. The fate writing the future of man, grieved for a moment, and before writing what would happened to the man in brackets wrote: this is the story of a man asking for a  heart of stone, poor naive not been realized that he was a statue.

At sunset

Every evening dusk, because every day has its night. Can you imagine what would happen if it were always at night?  If the nights never contemplate the sunrise? It would be frustrating, at least I think so. I think that both night and day are complete elements. Full as a chocolate bar.  This makes it boring. Of course, for anybody a chocolate bar is boring, but I'm sure that when you are opening the chocolate  the fun begins. When you start to tear the paper that cover it, you start fantasizing about the magical chocolate bar. Same with the day and night,   days are shiny and nights are dark; but when the blinks day dream, cheeks painted a beautiful red sky. A background scene for lovers, canvas for brush, framed picture for the memory and death of a day that will drain out of the clock. You don’t know how, but when the day closes its eyes to start sleeping, everything rests and prepares to start again with a yawn in the morning.  I just think that the sunsets are the most fun part of the day because it is not clear and not dark and we the people who live in the minds of the day, we still living during the evenings. But how beautiful when the sun goes down, kisses melt in the seashore and wild loves hiding. How beautiful is the end of the day, when colors are mixed, when the light turns off,  when the sun clears the sky. The best of all is that we know that as long as we are alive, we will have a new evening, they  will be the door to make the day have insomnia every night.

The Scam

 

The man had come to the town one morning, then, everything was complicated. It was a long way up there, everything to find that merchant. The memory of the deadly scam tormented him day and night. He was determined to confront and take back everything that had been stolen. The sword  in his left hand was disturbing.  From the distance and between the mists, a little business with  lights was shining.

The man was walking to the business; the air was impregnated with scent of alcohol. Behind the counter of establishing a shadow moved with alacrity. It was the business man. He was frightened. He quickly hid a knife in his pocket to defend himself in case the meeting took a wrong way.  Terrified to see who was, he went out to the back door and hid in the bathroom.

He does not know what to do. Instinctively he thought of how to defend against the inevitable. He heard steps approaching to the bathroom. Desperate, he looked at a window glass that was there. With his fist he broke the glass. He jumped out the window and went to a small road that went to the central part of town. Behind him was a faint trace of blood that dripped from his fist.

The merchant, who abused of the trust that was placed in him by man, was terrified. He started to run. Like 10 minutes later he looked to the back of the road. Seeing no one, he thought: I have escaped.  He was laughing, but the laugh was of short duration. Because the man, hungry for justice, emerged from the dense vegetation; and surprised the merchant.  The merchant took out his knife and approached it to the man's neck. Given this unexpected event, the man surprised the merchant  with fencing steps learned at the last harvest.

Seeing the ability of the man with that sword, knowing that at any moment he would be a dead man, with broken voice, the merchant began to give apologizes very loud, to the four winds. The man without thought, take up the sword he was carrying in his left hand. Suddenly a light was coming on four wheels. The light was reflected in the man marriage ring, which still had smell of jewelry. As of nowhere, they walked on the hands of wind and suddenly the seconds seemed an eternity, like when you fall from a chair. They fell to the ground and screaming of pain and they lost consciousness.

When they awoke, they were in a hospital type XXI century, with fluorescent lights and speakers who called who knows who. The two men were there, only a curtain divided them, for their misfortune the curtain was attached to the side of one wall. Also they could only look at each other face because they were motionless. They could only move their necks.  Down the hall, a woman who scratched the ground was getting closer. Her red dress was witness of a shared love. She opened the bedroom door, and looked to the men, in that moment; the world was tattooed with the memory of a scam of love.

Lovers' plans

Early in the morning the newspaper announced: Dolton Mate has been found dead. Mr. Dolton was a great businessman. During six years Mr. Dolton and his brother were the owners of the  Greatness construction company. The company of these brothers had built the most renowned buildings in New York, the Empire State was their masterpiece. However, the company began to lose money when Dolton invested the profits of the company in technological equipment. Mr Chris, Mr Dolton's twin brother, did his best to keep our work. I am Preig, the assistant chief of Mr Dolton Mate. Well, the ex- assistant, because Mr. Dolton is dead. The police have not found the murderer, but say it was a quick death, enough for the murderer escape without being noticed. My boss, he was killed yesterday when he met his lover Sasha, or at least that was her work nickname. An accurate shot in the heart, spotted one of the streets of Times Square.

 In the morning the FBI agents who handled the case, went to the  headquarter. They raided the office of Mr. Chris. Through the glass I could see one of the officers kept as evidence a gun of the same caliber as that used to kill Mr. Dolton. The whereabouts of Mr. Chris is unknown. If you think about it, Mr. Chris is the most likely murderer, and that because of Mr. Dolton the company was on the verge of bankruptcy.

That afternoon I went to see Mr. Ely's Mate. Strangely have not a tone of sadness. After a cup of tea that she invited to me, FBI agents arrived. Ely scrubbed her eyes, then some small tears came out . Immediately, told me to leave, so she opened the back door and made me leave. Who knows what's what Ely said, but when I arrived to my apartment two FBI agents were waiting for me. They question me, I had no choice but to confess that I was the lover of Ms. Rossy Mate, the wife of Mr. Chris. For a second they forgot the whereabouts of Mr. Mate, all questions were directed to me asking where Mr. Chris were. However, when I said my version of what happened, they leave me alone. My version coincided with the others' testimonies. 

It's been several months, it appears that under the bed of Ms. Rossy, Mr. Chris found Mr. Dolton underwear. Then Ms. Rossy confessed her infidelity. Mr. Chris went to confront his brother, he hit him in the face several times and told him that don't wanted to see him. Mr. Chris walked away, but around the corner Sasha found him, ignoring that Mr. Dolton had a twin brother, she shooted him. According to the police, Sasha wanted to kill Mr. Dolton because he had gone unpaid.

 After all, things were not that bad. The Greatness' company were sold. The money was divided between Mrs. Ely and Ms. Rossy. For each one approximately 5 million. At the moment,we  (my beloved Ely and I) are in some part of the world enjoying the sun. Rossy who knows where she is, the last time I saw her she was boarding a plane. To not leave you with doubt, I have to say that Sasha achieved her goal of killing Dolton, because he come back to her when he saw his dead brother. She obviously, with great fear murdered him. For the record,  I just let underwear of Dolton in Rossy's house, his death was not my fault, my only crime is have been the lover of their wives.

Sleepwalking Neurons

Ran, ran, and ran. The road was infinite, a sun lay bleeding on the sand. The cold was unbearable. On the shore a boat got stuck in a whirlpool. I turned my head everywhere. Suddenly all the stars of the sky began to fall to the ground. As a waterfall, they were spilling on the ground leaving huge craters. I kept running, now inside a building, I was designed to find the fourteenth floor. I opened the last door it takes me to the roof.  I was in Paris, next to a madman who killed storks.  I was scared, and then I moved to the first floor. I went out using the front door, I stopped. The sun peeked behind a building; I remembered that I couldn’t be touched by sunlight. I started to run again, the cold sunlight chasing me was almost touching heels. I impact a wall. Everything went dark, I saw nothing.

  Two seconds later I was locked in a glass case filled with water. Then I understood. I was having a nightmare. I touched with my finger one of the walls of the glass cube. I woke up.  I look at the clock, it was 12am. Through the window the sun streamed in. ¿Sun at 12 pm? I wondered. I pinched myself. I could not believe it, I lay on the pillow, but the sun doesn’t let me sleep. So I go down the stairs for a glass of water. I walked to the kitchen, I drank water. I looked to the second floor and I noticed that the stairs were gone. I started to jump to reach the edge of my room. I was there alone. I laugh at a bony shadow that was looking at me with his empty eyes sockets. I wondered if he was seeing me. I don’t know how, but suddenly the floor disappeared.  I slid between many rocks and I couldn’t hold them, because they were freshly bathed and soap made them slip out of hands. It was about 100m from the ground, the floor looked increasingly closer. Reaching 10 meters I could not scream. 9m, 8m, 7m, 6m, 5m, 4m, 3m, 2m, 1m, just before touching the ground I woke up.

Yes….I'm awake and I confirm its 4 am, the moon is in her place, I am writing my dream, I have only couple of minutes before I forget it, I must go to bed, but I fear having another nightmare again. Now remember that tomorrow I have to go to that class, to that class that I don’t want to go because I hate it. But I have an exam. I wonder if I'm still dreaming.

Sometimes: "the soul cries when the face laughs"

Carlos' Mother

         Have you ever fallen in love with someone older than you? How more?  Enough to be the mother of your best friend or to be your mother? That's what happens to me.  I spend my days trying to justify myself. I can’t explain myself why I like her and not the girls of my age. And the worst part is that it is precisely her. I can’t stop thinking about her. Today I have to go to the house of my friend Carlos; and if he is not there, his mother can open the door… and invite me to go inside again.

Heart of cloth

                  And there I was, on the side of an old chair leg. I don’t remember well, it's been years since my last hours of warmth. But I'm here on the floor; threatened by a pair of old scissors that pretend to cut the threads that keep my life together. My edges are ripped; the beautifulreddish highlighting is no longer in my soul. Today I am just an opaque cloth heart that liesat the edge of a time that destroys my fibers. Most I do not give up; hearts never surrender, no matter how deep is the wound.
             Some evil bug has already gnawed those wings that made me fly. Looks like I have nostrength, but I believe in hope. That night you looked at me. I saw you looking at meintently; you take out from my side those scissors that placed my life in danger. I remember that when you take me up, part of me was left under the overwhelming shadow of the chair.I was lost, torn into two pieces; any heart that was alive should die this way. I was in your smooth hands, but I left my good and bad experiences down the chair. I left that craziness that the heart does but the reason doesn’t understand. Crazy of shadows my other halfunder the chair was dying. You, knowing that without that part I would not be complete, you pick it up, and that was the part were my old miseries and adventures were hidden. I saw myself in your hands as waste; I thought I would end with the other garbage.

               But you walked into a strange room, from a drawer you brought out a bag. Then you opened it lovingly, you get a new pair of scissors that whispered my complete destruction. I closed my eyes to not see how you cut me into more pieces. Suddenly, you crossed me with a white pain that electrified my fibers. Again and again I felt the pain of that misery. The white pain across my parts makes me remember everything that I thought I was lost. I felt my walls came together, but the pain was immense. I felt alone and afraid. My life was in your hands. The pain was so much and I lost my consciousness. Few hours later I regainmy consciousness. I felt myself.... I began to feel that my edges were not frayed as before, I felt my other half, my essence. I saw it; I was scared to have color again. I was glad, as I said: a heart that was alive never gives up. But I was crossed by a white thread.  I know it kept my parts together, but I felt it like a scar that reminded my life. In order to consolemyself I said: you must die first then you can resurrect and start to live again.

             But, who would want a heart with a scar that ran through his center. I hurt myself again. You noticed and you placed an Ace bandage to cover my wound. I thought nobody would take me. But you woke up in the morning and took me from the table. With some other threads you put me on your shirt, my tangled wires in your soul and my scar didn’t care anymore because I'm happy today. I feel great, just because your heart beats next to me, next to my threads, they will enjoy your company, one minute, ten, thirty years ......... until this great start comes to an end.

Self-portrait for Freud

                                                                    "I'd say I'm like a ghost, but that is Mayra’s idea"

            A few weeks ago I went to see him. Was one of those days where the world seems to be against you. All things from the silliest to the most complicated are colluding to make life a headache. I was in a bad mood. I arrived.  As always, at 3:00 pm, the doctor came in with his notebook. He told me to start taking confidence I should describe myself. I started by telling my height:  five feet eight inches. My hair, black. On the lip a scar that reminds me that in life the silliest things leave a mark. And how to forget the scar on my forehead, that just reminds me that the walls are hard. Interrupting he asked me about how I felt about my body. I just told him that my body felt good with me. Then with his kangaroo doctor style, jumped up and told me to speak about my eyes. I recognize the time of mild annoyance at the question. Why? Well people say that eyes are the windows to the soul; in my case I think they are transparent windows. I should clarify they are the type of windows that you can see from the inside all around but it is almost impossible to see to the inside. After saying that the doctor asked me about what was what was inside. Then I began to tell:

          To be honest I must say that my eyes do not keep many tears, but kept many joys. My eyes are the lies that best describe me. I am that person who can walk quietly. I can be right next to you on such silence that I stay unnoticed. I watch everything. That does not mean I can’t be loud. Indeed, I am, but not always. I  Do not suppress the desire to be noisy. In fact I never hide anything. I'm just in the blind spot, that place where you see what is happening but are not visible until you move. Many people try to get close to me, but if you get too close, you only will see a little part of me, some people see me from afar, and obviously I miss in their pupils like a ship on the horizon. I think I'm complicated, like a character of self-fiction. I think you do not understand me. It might seem that I am not describing a lot, but look closely, carefully. I'm not a cold person at all. I do not keep my feelings in my chest case to suffer. I can’t deny that sometimes I cried with laughter, but that already happened. Maybe I have learned a lot in so little and short lifetime, I can’t write from the wound, but ii can write from the scar. (At the end of the day I live in my imagination.) It seems that I have the ability to learn from my mistakes and from the others' mistakes. Returning to my eyes I must report that they can tell you a thousand things about me, like that I  am responsible, I care for other people, I'm antisocial, I can be a great friend ... but don’t  trust, everybody lies, and I can  assure you,  that my eyes are always ready to be of a different color every time you look at them, that’s how I was born. Privilege or conviction, I can see through the window, but you just look to the curtains.

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