Miedo acechando a cada paso,
Escondido tras cada esquina.
En el pecho, miedo en la espina,
Temblor, temor, noches de espanto.

Nada amedrenta la costumbre
A la inquietud que me acompaña.
Cualquier haz de luz que vislumbre
El miedo enseguida lo empaña.

Pienso en el último de octubre
y en quienes el miedo celebran
cual macabro entretenimiento.

Su ignorancia, quizás, encubre
las vidas que los miedos quiebran
incesantes, sino cruento.

Reasons underneath my chosen isolation

“If I’m going to feel lonely anyway, I’d rather be alone,” she thought.

And that’s what she’d tell herself every time anyone came close to her. She’d rather be alone than open up and face the possibility of being misunderstood. She knew she wouldn’t stand having her feelings out in the open while everyone judged them to be excessive, an overreaction, a call for attention, an intimate selfishness buried underneath layers and layers of care for others.

“I’d rather be alone than surrounded by people who can’t understand what it’s like to be me. The pain it bears. The solitude, the sorrow, the fears and abandonment, the feeling that I’ve been alone all along and that that’s what awaits me for the rest of my existence.”

Choosing to be alone always came with a price. If she had been feeling lonely before, now she also had that burden of loneliness on her shoulders, as she could’ve remedied it but had preferred not to. “I’m lonely, alone and it’s all my fault,” she’d cry in her bed after her desperate attempts at putting herself together had miserably failed. In moments like that, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at her phone, looking forward to any message from anyone with equal parts of hope and dread. “Please, someone notice I’m lonely,” she thought. “Please, no one ever know how I feel. I’d have to explain, and right now I just can’t,” she thought.

Whenever she finally checked it out, only an empty screen would be witness to her solitary tears.

And so, another day would go.

And still they keep trying - And still I keep fighting

Behind those fake smiles I can see
All they understand is how flawed I'd be
In all their generosity they want to help me
get rid of all that's wrong
Yet they're too blind to see
All they're doing is push me gone

They don't understand me
All they want is to change me
Without honest knowledge of the cause within
All they want is to change me

Tough life of a full-time dreamer

There's a land of dreams I can share with them. And we're happy here, though sometimes we have to return.

Back to real life. Where they have loved ones they can return to, whereas I only have those dreams and that bitter solitude after knowing something better.

Reversed artist

Some say it takes misery and pain to create art. Most believe it, actually.

For me, even though inspiration is always hard to find, it's absolutely impossible when I'm depressed. It's the time when I get back on my feet that helps me put things in perspective and turn my experiences into something beautiful, may it be a drawing, a painting or a short story. That's what always made me believe that I am no artist, but maybe no artist is that way. Maybe they all went through bad times and exploited them through the good ones. Maybe some did.

On the other hand, even if pain is not needed, maybe not being complete is. I write because I seek in my pages the love I can't have in real life. I seek to expose myself to no one and everyone, to have my feelings and thoughts out in the light but never discuss them. I write only to myself, the same way I didn't need to write when I wasn't alone. I'm scared of falling in love because I believe that'll make me less of a writer, but if I stay this way forever I'll likely lose my mind.

I don't know if any of this made sense. I don't care, either.

We can't change anything but the way we look at something

It's always been a mystery to me, but today I had an epiphany: we choose what we like and dislike.

Of course it's deeper than that. It is not something we do all the time and it's surely not something we're usually aware of, but it's there. And it is as simple as looking at the way we see things.

My favorite House was Gryffindor until Pottermore sorted me into Hufflepuff. After whining and doing my research, I came to love Pottermore's result because I wanted to like Hufflepuff.

I've never liked alcohol because I haven't tried it that much. Sure, maybe there is an alcoholic drink out there that I wouldn't mind drinking, but behind that taste issue there's a conscious decision: I don't want to like alcohol. So I don't even give it a try.

Once, someone said that we choose who we fall in love with. That, even though I still don't believe it, makes a lot more sense after thinking all that liking stuff through. I'm a hopeless romantic, so I don't want to wrap my head around it, although, from a logical point, it clicks.

In conclusion: if you want to like something, look at its bright side, forget the ugly parts or do both. If you don't, do the exact opposite thing.

It's hard to believe you can feel this way until you do.

That feeling of being alone in a crowded room.

Of believing you're empty.

Of not caring even though you know you should.

Not being able to gather strength to do the simplest tasks.

Lacking motivation to do things you like(d).

Life becomes grey, no taste in food, no smells, no comfort in anything you see or touch. Smiling physically hurts when it's such an obvious lie.

And you're not even bottom, it can get worse. And you know what the cure is, but you can't have it. So you just let the current drown you. You'll care later. Now, all you need is to be sad.

Dance for the first time as if it were the last

“Give me love like her

'Cause lately I've been waking up alone”

Su sonrisa era amable, tierna y tranquilizadora.

Sus brazos me levantaron y me sujetaron, una mano en la cintura, otra entrelazada en mis dedos. Mis inútiles piernas no supusieron un obstáculo para él, que permitió que mis pies se posaran encima de los suyos. Nos movimos a su ritmo, al compás de la música.

“After my blood turns into alcohol

No, I just wanna hold ya…”

Su sonrisa se tornó atractiva, electrizante y prometedora.

Nuestros torpes movimientos dejaron paso a un baile más fluido y rápido, nuestros cuerpos más pegados, mis ojos incapaces de separarse de los suyos. Tantas promesas mudas me llenaron de calidez. Mis distraídos pies resbalaron de los suyos, pero, como autómatas, comenzaron a seguir aquella danza sin interrupción.

“Give me love like never before

'Cause lately I've been craving more”

Su sonrisa se volvió avariciosa, apasionada y demandante.

El agarre que sus manos ejercían sobre mí ya no era protector, sino posesivo. Quería más de mí, más con cada paso que dábamos. Cada vuelta estaba más cerca, ante lo cual no sabía si sentirme deseada o aterrada. Cerré los ojos con fuerza cuando sus labios se aproximaron a mi oreja, y los abrí de golpe al escuchar lo que dijo.

“Adiós.”

Su sonrisa se convirtió en una mueca cruel, hiriente y burlona.

Me soltó como si no pudiera soportar ya más el compartir el mismo espacio que yo, y dejó que cayera de bruces mientras él me contemplaba desde arriba, superior y desafiante. No tardó en darse la vuelta y marcharse. Petrificada, le seguí con la mirada mientras los gritos de la canción retumbaban en mis oídos y en mi pecho, y me dio la sensación de que el mundo se quemaba.

“…”

On how things were and are

It used to be the three of us.

Now, it's the two of them and me.

Thoughts that have been wandering on my mind

I'm so looking forward to falling in love…!

… yet I'm so scared of actually falling in love.

What if I never find someone? What if I do, but he's just half a soulmate? What if he loves horror movies, drinking and partying really hard? What if I'm the only one making an effort? What if he makes me feel vulnerable by knowing so much about me? What if I get jealous over the silliest things? What if he doesn't? What if he breaks my heart?

What if my heart gets broken over never being used?

On acceptance

She likes acting and the theater. He likes sports and playing video-games.

I'm different.

I like reading and writing, yes, they could be considered “normal hobbies”. The problem is, I also like anime and video-games, but japanese stuff and cosplaying are weird things in my environment. Things that would make them ashamed of me.

I've also thought about tattoos and dying my hair a lot. Throughout the years I have eventually changed my mind about getting most of them, but there's one that won't go away. A tiny bird behind my left ear. And then some orange Hayley Williams-ish hair on top of everything. It would feel wild, daring, funny, liberating, so unlike me… I truly believe it would be a really good way for me to be brave.

I've always felt like I'm the one pushing the boundaries. I keep an open mind to whatever may come and then try to get them all to enjoy it or know it a bit better at least. Lately, it's been really frustrating for me because of this constant conflict between my mindset and their prejudices. Good thing though, they are way more open-minded than most people. Still…

But it's okay, because at least a part of me is home.

Seeing my heart in your eyes
For the last time, before you say goodbye.

Eshajōri 会者定離 (people meet, always part)

Valar morghulis. All men must die.

I just came across the title of this post on tumblr. That word was meant to express the idea of impermanence of all things. Everything ends because change is the only thing that remains (thanks for that one, Heraclitus), and as change is the only thing that remains, everything must come to an end. Eshajōri brings a new perspective to human relationships: all the unbreakable friendships, the burning hate and even the strongest love will, indeed, cease to exist someday due to life itself. The people who share those relationships will eventually die, and those feelings will die along with them.

I really don't know how to feel about that. Should I make huge efforts on relationships that will finish, doesn't matter what I do? In fact, should I even bother at all? I am gonna die sooner or later, so why should I try to live anyway? But I also do not know what happens after you die, just as I don't know what would happen if I lived… though the first one I'll know due to life itself. The second one is a chance that's been given to me. The only way I'll get to know what happens next is… well, by living.

In the end, not life nor death make sense. Let's just not waste the first one while we have the second one for granted.

Sorry I lied, hope you understand

I lied some days ago. Six, actually. I told a lie which wasn't even that important, it was no big deal, but I've been feeling this weight on my chest ever since and maybe writing it down would release some of the pressure, so…

I lied because I wanted to hide my feelings. With social media these days, you usually tend to feel more like a number. You are just another follower. Only your friends tend to read what you say to them. I was used to being a number, really, but then he appeared. He read everything. He wanted all of us to remain people, individuals he could recognize. I was someone… and he started growing. Followers here, followers there, everybody wanted a piece of his attention and there was just not enough of him for all of us. That's how I became a number… or so I thought.

I gradually stopped trying to get my bad jokes to get to him; there were times when I'd force myself to think if he'd be interested in what I was thinking to tell him, then I would get frustrated and not even try. It hurt knowing that you cared about someone who probably didn't care as much about you, that's what my heart felt but my head didn't dare to translate.

One day I simply decided to get some time for myself: I'd get rid of him in my social media, so that I'd just get rid of the pressure as well. It went well. It actually didn't, I felt a bit better but I missed him. I also knew the way I was acting was a bit childish: I never wanted his attention, but I accidentally got it and when it seemed I couldn't get it anymore I kind of got upset. And lonely? Sort of. Hard to explain.

Then this other day, I just said: “Okay, I might be just a number because a lot of people is interested in him now, but who cares? I'm gonna be a great number. And if he notices me and I get him to smile with my nonsense, then it's okay!”. I got a new attitude and tried to make those things affect me less, and I got him into my social media again.

And, finally, the magic happened.

I had some silly joke for what he shared with his followers, and a few minutes later… he welcomed me back. He noticed I had left, and he was also glad I was back –can't quite understand why, I mean… my jokes are TERRIBLE. But it made me feel valuable, even if he didn't have enough time for all of us, he had room for each individual in a special place. And now I regret lying and telling him it had been just a mistake. It was, of course, but not as I made it look like. And although the explanation for that mistake is longer than 140 characters, I wish I had told him the truth. I also wish he could understand it, because I feel like I haven't been clear enough throughtout this Bible I just wrote.

I don't know.

Seis segundos

“Ella nunca me miraba a los ojos. Siempre tenía otros lugares a los que mirar en las ocasiones en las que los míos buscaban los suyos. Casi resultaba frustrante.

Ella nunca me miraba a los ojos… hasta hoy.

Su encantadora risa en el parque me despistó de sus dedos entrelazándose con los míos; tras echar un vistazo a nuestras manos unidas, mi mirada no pudo evitar subir hasta toparse con un par de curiosos ojos verdes. Me quedé sin aliento.

Fueron los seis segundos más aterradores que he vivido nunca. Caía al vacío, caía mientras la miraba y me miraba, caía y de repente sentí los pies en la tierra. No había vacío, comprendí, había algo. Ella.

Fueron los seis segundos más reconfortantes de mi vida. Al entender que se me había permitido contemplar su alma, me perdí en ella. Buceé, exploré y nos encontré en aquella familiaridad que eran sus ojos. Supe que se sentía tan vulnerable como yo, y por eso me sentí afortunado de haber recibido esa oportunidad de contemplarla.

Fueron los seis segundos más eufóricos del mundo. Pensar que ella estaba investigándome tanto como yo a ella y que, tras tanto tiempo, ninguno hubiera rechazado la mirada del otro, despegó mis pies del suelo y me hizo sentir que volaba. Mi pecho se infló de aire y de calidez, y sentí que en ese momento sería capaz de hacer cualquier cosa. Incluso de besarla.

Fueron los seis mejores segundos de mi vida… hasta que llegaron los siguientes seis segundos. Y los siguientes. Y los siguientes.”

Firefly

   The sound of the guitar and his voice flooded the small room. Either he had lied or his perception of his own voice was as wrong as pink water and green clouds could be. His chanting was delightful, although there was indeed some insecurity showing here and there; he really believed his singing was not angel-alike. How could he? How did he dare?

   I shyly joined the chorus, causing a bigger hesitation from him that immediately stopped. The song continued to be sung, our voices entangling with an intimacy not even bodies had ever experienced. My eyes got accidentally caught on his, and neither of us was able to look away. I honestly can't remember what happened with the guitar and the lyrics we were singing. I can't even remember anything else beyond his deep, green eyes…

   I can't remember.

Soon, but not soon enough

An angel has died today

An angel is gone

Grief him with your heart if you may

Or don't grief at all

An angel has died today

An angel is home

Cry to get rid of the pain

And lift up your soul

I said goodbye too soon

But not soon enough

My wings grew strong and fluffy

They lifted me home

Yet my heart refused to leave

To flee the life it had chosen

I left my heart with you

And from the Heavens I'm watching

I promise

I will protect you

You will not ever be alone

I will protect your

Son and your daughter

As if they were my own

We will meet again, soon

But not soon enough

Questions crowd into my head

As to what that moment may be like

Will you remember me?

Will you remember my face?

Will you stretch me into your arms

And hold me to eternity?

Or will your weak, human mind

Forget me?

Will a long and full life be enough to erase me from your thoughts

Or will you, on the other hand, die too soon?

You should not die.

Your soul shall persevere through time and space

For everyone in Earth to know your love and bliss

Still, you were made human; not even I

Can stop fate nor God.

Too beautiful for too little

You are to become an angel by my side

But your dying will come too soon for your family

And not soon enough for me

Enjoy while you can, my dear

Live a full life, the one you deserve

I'll be waiting my turn to enjoy your company again

Soon…

Desiderative thinking on a lonely night

I want someone who'll dance with me, hold me to keep me from falling and turn that move into art.

I want someone whose voice will merge with mine, creating melodies that'll bring joy to our souls and smiles to our lightened faces. Melodies that will only stop when we kiss.

I want someone who'll listen to me even when I don't want to talk.

I want someone I can listen to for hours without ever getting tired.

I want someone that agrees with me, I want someone that also disagrees and still respects and values my opinion.

I want someone that'll make my heart follow the rhythm of love. Someone that'll make it as scary as worthy.

I want someone.

On what we share.

We are all the same, yet we are so different from each other. Studying psychology, that statement has come to me as an epiphany.

Psychology studies human behavior from so many points of view –environment, variables that affect our growth, even genetics. We all have a brain. We all have skin, eyes, lips. We have hearts. Lungs.

We all have a brain, and yet each brain works differently. Isn't it like magic?, the fact that everyone has a brain and no one thinks, does, speaks, imagines, dreams of or loves the same stuff. We were genetically programmed to have brains, but we weren't programmed to have the same experiences. It's overwhelming and sometimes scary, studying psychology. It's also exciting. There are so many posibilities for each of us to be unique… And still, it is so hard to know someone deeply, completely.

The only thing I can know for sure is that we all share one thing, something some of us have already experienced but everyone will get to live one way or another: death.

On missing her

Months have passed, though they feel like a hundred years. Bringing back the memories of the last time I hugged her entails salted tears and tight lips. I don't want to cry.

This is my first time. I've never lost someone I cared that much, cat or not. Am I over it? Maybe I'm not, because I still miss her. Maybe missing her doesn't mean I haven't moved on. How could I know?

She is out there. Alive. Well fed. Sad. Does she know that I love her, that I just can't have her? That I wish things were different? Will she ever be happy again? I don't want to cry.

I don't want to cry.

I don't…

Nomeolvides.