We

We weren't Romeo and Juliet, we weren't star-crossed lovers who were meant to die side by side. We weren't soul mates. We were puzzle pieces, put together by the hand of the wind and water. We were happy, young, in love.

His hands took mine to always make me feel protected. I showed him the light of the summer, and he
showed me the beauty of the snow. I made him laugh to make him feel heard. We tumbled into each other so that neither of us fell. We laughed about the ignorance around us, and embraced our rebellious teenage years.

We walked along the lake-shore into life without any idea that the winds were around the corner. We traveled through the streets of the dark city without knowing that there were ghosts hidden in the allies.

But when the clock hit 4 in the morning we were lost within the woods, we had gone so far of our paths that the beauty of the trees was lost, and the butterflies had become spiders. We had trusted our eyes to lead us, but we were blind by the heat of the moment.

We weren't Romeo and Juliet, but we had fallen deep in love like them, for the love to break us in the end.

Pacific airs

Between the clouds I feel big. Between the blue sky and the power of the wind I can fly to my destiny. I move between the heights and observe how little problems seem for a far, and how grandiose it is to keep going every time the sun comes up. My heart beats strongly in my chest when I see the palm tress growing and the sea getting closer.

With my hair loose, a smile on my face, and a book in my hands I get to the farthest shoreline, that which very few travel to. In that shoreline, breathing the salt water smell, I find myself again. Even though, I have been lost in the paths of the sand, I have discovered precious rocks, broken shells that no one wants but that don't cut if touched carefully, and little goals that have helped me reach the sea. The waves roar and splash, but they don't scare me. On the contrary, I enjoy each drop that brushes; each of them gives me strength to face the next storm, it passes onto me the happiness of knowing what time is, that vague concept that directs everything and gives nothing for granted.

I promise not to freeze

The words choke in my mouth. The screams of impotence freeze on my lips. My fingers can’t feel, they’re cold and irritated for not having a coin to give or a good to acclaim.

I see my reflection in the train’s rails and the injustice in the carriage. A carriage that is home to some and warmth to others. I hear the out of tune guitar between the footsteps, begging a gesture that will promise it that tomorrow will be better, but the gesture never comes.

I look around and my eyes aren't capable of comprehending how the most prized possession of the man in the corner is his shoes and of the man in the cafeteria is his new phone. My heart breaks when it hears the sound of assumptions; those who take shelter between the wall and the concrete are despicable and got there by their own judgment. Lie, I scream.

When the ice of the wind has soaked my body, I break and cry for those who live without living, for those damaged smiles due to society’s rules and for those newspapers that are pillows. My tears promise that those newspapers and those books in the back of the library will someday proclaim justice, they will be the beginning of the way home for the desolated and the flower that shines in the vase of their four walls. Because everyone deserves four walls.

Two years ago

We get there dressed in colorful clothes, painted in red as if we were bleeding, with skirts and capes to cover normality just for a night. The place is filled with familiar faces hidden behind make-up; I recognize conversations around me while the music becomes present in that little building, and the smell of smoke melts between the people. I see every pair of eyes but yours, even though I barely knew it then. The words without meaning continue and the pictures destined for photo albums follow them. I move between the small multitude and you finally appear in front of me, radiant, dressed with an elegance that is unjust for the occasion we're celebrating. And me, with ribbons in my hair, turn redder than the nose I should be wearing. We talk, as if time was endless.

The melody stops and we run out into the autumn air, without a path, wishing for the stars to guide us. The moon helps me conceal the butterflies in my stomach and that innocent desire to stay by your side in a bench and let time fall to the ground.

Midnight reaches us, that time that tells all, those numbers in the clock that indicate that the sunrise of a new story is about to begin. It's like a fairy tale, you are the knight dressed in white with a bow tie that takes the cold away from the girl that has been left speechless.

And, in a moment, without being conscious of it, the first of November is the first chapter in our love book. The alley is marked by our unfamiliar kiss and our cheeks by the air that surrounds us.

The night of nightmares ends with a dream that has just begun and two hearts with a new beat.

Sitting on the reason

Sitting by her table and with her head on her hands she can't decide what hurts more: her heart repairing the wounds or her head spinning the words "Nothing will ever be the same" endlessly.

Her legs tremble, because she had to run home to not fall in the snow and dissolve in an infinite remorse. Her eyes are closed, not to look at the crumpled letter that her conscience hasn't stopped reading. The letter that has the words that she had once guided herself by marked in black. "Everything happens for a reason." "No!" she curses them, and tries to erase them with the smoke snow forms. "If everything happens for a reason, why am I here and not there? Why can't I turn the page? Why can't I let someone look into my eyes and tell me they're beautiful?" Her eyes, the culprit of this tornado. Her look is the source of her troubles, the one that decided to take a step forward when the cord of insecurity held her tight. If her eyes had seen the cord, they would have stopped her, they would shouted that was she was about to throw her self into was a mistake, that the "yes" that escaped her lips was a mistake, even if her mind proclaimed it true. That "yes" caused damage, a damage that her conscience didn't see coming, but that now is the only thing that exists at the bottom of her nights.

Her lips tremble, scared of the words they have just said, sad because they know nothing will ever be the same; even if they smile, talk and pretend, the cord that tied autumn and winter will never be as strong.

Healing the scars distance has left, her heart asks for forgiveness. It pleads for forgiveness for not being able to take the bricks the down, and for not holding on and exploding. Sitting by her table and with her head on her hands, the only thing she can do is tell her dear heart that there's nothing to forgive, that she know that was coming and what will come.

Mirror

Talking with the mirror, I told myself that I would never again look for the flowers between the thorns. Observing my eyes, I promised my glance I wouldn't look for happy endings where there aren't any. Looking at my rosy lips, I formulated the words "happiness shouldn't be searched for." And seeing my shoulders move when breathing, I whispered  "it comes when everything is lost and the sky is grey."

I turned my head and looked out the window; the sky wasn't grey but pink. I smelled the autumn air and rested my head in the wood frame. I saw the leaves fall. Everything falls, even people. But like October leaves, people fall and are surrounded by colors, that little by little intertwine with days and become a beautiful mantel that covers mornings.

The pink sky was darkening, but I wasn't scared of facing the night. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the small neighborhood in the big city. With every step, bark, and tire that made a sound next to the wind, I entered a simple monotony. My mind left the corner with the mirror and made it to the end of that book that doesn't end with a happily ever after, but with the realization that life moves with precision, and it gives us happiness and sadness at the same time, to teach us the gift of falling and coming back up.

Traveling with the wind

In the car, with the wind coming in through the window and the city called ¨home¨ behind my thoughts, I went ahead hand in hand with incertitude and beautiful loneliness. I saw wonders of the world dressed with water and roars; I roared next to them to feel the power of being big. I slept under the stars next to the grass and heart that beat with the same impatient blood. I looked at the fire with certitude and wrote my stories in the fallen leaves.

I drove away from the known and entered Canadian cities and neighborhoods decorated by the French language and colored teas. Canada surprised me with tranquility and rivers that talked about different experiences in new lands. I walked between the streets of Ottawa, which sounded of the happiness of innocents and the passion of naive minds. I ran between the green roofs and left my anxiety of imperfect plans in the rocks of the northern river. I rose to the medley between Europe and America and got to Montreal, who danced with me until the paintings from the galleries became reality. I moved my feet according to the rhythm the city taught me, and the hips followed the melody the night whispered between starts and Irish buildings. The dance ended with a new song stuck in my mind.

The car led me to corners in my memory and lunches among the trees decorated by new friendships. I dreamed with the city that never sleeps and when I woke up I was in it. I discovered the fascination for the rush of walking between shop and nook and I understood the wonder of a park inside the greatest buildings of New York. I guessed the riddle that the streets proposed and I was capable of figuring out how to walk among people and live in their stories. The Brooklyn Bridge was my companion when the sun was on the rooftops of the buildings, and the Statue of Liberty hid from my eyes when I asked to admire its historical beauty. I lived stories between seas of diversity and I lamented when the adventure declared its end.

1989

The lights went off and my heart lit up. The beat started with a soft rhythm, provoking the lyrics to jump higher. The screams started as your blue eyes became present in the center of the stadium and hands started waving when the first words of the song made their way into the crowd.

I was wonderstruck, praising my luck for leading me towards seeing your beautiful smile when you saw your dream being made reality. You looked at the fifty-five thousand eyes staring back at you and realized they had all gathered to make their dreams come true as well.

I was afraid of not being able to capture every single second in my memory. I memorized the way your voice rose and fell at the same time your dancers moved their feet according to our mood. The songs grew, as so did my excitement of hearing my life being put into words in a concert.

I was in love with the stars that had decided to watch me become the best version of myself next to you. They sang along to the new and when the old stirred, they let the moon be the guide; you took your guitar and explored memory lane.

I was crying, realizing that you had been by my side when no one else was and that your words would be tattooed on my skin on my good and bad days. And on those bad days, your melody would be there to save me, like it did that night of July 18th.

I was inspired by your determination to make us all happy and loved. I danced to the fast and swayed to the slow as your angelic voice wrapped the audience in a bundle of joy.

I was clean of all my troubles and voices in my head after months of being captured in my own mind. Your piano stirred my self esteem and made sure I wouldn't push it back down. The old country song reminded me of the past and helped me live the photographs with a refreshed light.

I am thankful to have you as my light. I love you.

4th of July

A deja vu. Three pairs of eyes running through the water on the fourth of the month. The clock of oblivion and heat creep into the night. It seems as if nothing has changed, that the teenagers look the same and the month that begins will tell the same story. But a lot has changed. Now the calendar marks another date and the beach isn't lonely.

The white feet advance into the water, followed by the tan. The bodies splash the water while the moon greets them with a red color. They fall into the lake and get up when tranquility disappears. The beer wait next to the wish of being forever young. With the wet clothes stuck the body they make a toast to the present and looking towards the future they hug.

The teens walk until the path vanishes and they trap the night between dances and failings. They laugh continuously and she smiles, realizing how precious the help of two people can be. The fourth of July shines in their rosy cheeks when they jump through the streets of the Windy City.

Their fears fade and their bravery approaches with the tree leaves. They let themselves go and without noticing they are still, thinking about the next adventure.

They celebrate independence, but not America's, but theirs against destiny.

Hands

She doesn't pain her nails black like she used to not have to pretend she didn't believe in the rainbow. Now her delicate fingers end in an innocent pink decided to restore the flowers in the jar.

They hold the colored pens again, moving them without pause but without reason. They spring from the life they thought they had lost in the middle of the dream. They no longer hold Sunday's blanket, but hold the petals from the flowers destroyed by the winter. They freeze without fear, because they don't try to avoid the inevitable and play next to the wind.

Her hands don't hide in the pockets of her jeans, they go out and wave with incertainty but without remorse. They don't get lost between the dark corners of her purse, but they find the way that the color of her lipstick draw. They don't limit themselves to touch the old books in her shelf, but they also grab the novels that talk about new moons.

End of a chapter

As I turned the page I saw it was in black and white, like it was stuck in the past and couldn't be read anymore. I touched the letters in cursive and read the words until the ink wrote them on my burning heart. Now, with each beat, through my veins flow the words of hellos and goodbyes between hall and walls. I folded the corner of the page when I found the mountains and the hidden wine bottles so I could go back to the nights between flames and stars.

I looked for the little moments between the long verses and I found the reason why my shelf is filled with novels. I discovered presents trapped between forced sentences. I overcame the fear of reading each chapter with the nostalgia of passing years on my shoulders. I read the numerous chapters during a sleepless night and I left the bookmark hidden between the blank pages, to not let some pages prevail more than others.

It wasn't easy, leaving the book on my nightstand and realize that the only pen that was by its side now was more. I realized the rest of the way told in the pages is destined to be written solemnly by my hand, and when the picture with the cap and gown the book is going to be heavier.

We aren't ours

We saw each other like strangers in a garden of roses. Our eyes danced with the smell of spring while our hands touched the thorns. You tore a rose and gave it to me while your lips whispered the question of my name. You never got an answer, because the thorns from your rose dug into my fingers and I started running.

We found each other facing the water of the sunset. The sun that fell crying observed us while we talked without words and our feeling caressed the sand. I tossed a rock in the water to distract the past to the bottom of the never ending ocean. You never touched my face to take away the cold because your feet had plunged into the sand with the letters from that goodbye.

We crossed paths between the overflow of the city. I looked at you while you looked at the time and I turned my face before I could see the lost time thinking about you on your watch. I continued to the opposite side of the street, like I dud that cloudless morning. But this time you didn't follow me to convince me that the next time you would call to my door would be without rain.

We desired each other when the calendar ended and we fell broken on different sides of the meadow.

I wasn't but I had been

I didn't believe in backstabbing, until I became the knife. I never though I was broken, until one of the jagged pieces left a mark on my skin. I though the wall was a simple wood fence, not three meters of cement.

I thought incertitude wasn't by side, but that it had gotten the train to the other side of the lake. But no, it was still next to me. It came one morning and dissolved in my coffee, confusing my feeling and disorganizing my priorities. It kept me from changing signals or paths. It became by biggest enemy, at the same time as my excuse. The soaked coffee now doesn't taste like shared promises and movie nights between the darkness, but like the cold that gathers in my hands when there's no sun and evenings laying on the floor trying to find a concrete answer.

I didn't believe in ghosts, until they found shelter under my pillow and didn't let me sleep with my eyes closed. I never thought pictures could hurt so much, until one of the corners from my favorite photograph folded. and I cried on it.

May 25th

I woke up next to the moon and listened to the songs of the night. My feet jumped from the bed at two in the morning and my body let itself be dragged by insomnia. I went to the terrace with a pen in hand and in the leaves painted by the rain I inscribed my tale. I smiled while the words were being tattooed on the branches, conveying the end of a beginning. I pulled an all-nighter between candles that blew out when my mind was lit.

The sun came in through my window at eight and my heart started to beat with anticipation. The flavor of the tea was mixed with memories dissolved in confusion between reality and imagination. I sat down on the morning cloud, who let me stay in their paradise until it started to rain. It rained kisses, laughs, hellos, congratulations, catastrophes and bumps. It rained until I was soaked in happiness, but it only rained on one side of the screen.

Between sweet and sour, I went back to the routine. I tried to get into the water but I froze before feeling the lake at my feet. The cold of the waves went up to my chest, where it stayed until spring's wind took sweep it away. When the cold left, there came a heat that I thought would never appear by my side. This heat suffocated me until it drained me and it clothed me until I feel asleep with its lullabies.

I woke up next to a star, who lifted me up from my nostalgia and led me towards the future. Together, we laughed in the grass and contemplated how quickly things change from one moon to another.

The option isn't gray

I can't bring myself to do it, I know whatever happens it will end up being a mistake, yet I don't turn my back on it completely.

It's all in my head, all the regret of actions that haven't taken place still. Why the heck should I have to spend my nights curled up in a ball of unknowing? Where in the world am I supposed to go if any direction I take will be the wrong one?

I guess you could say it's as simple as black or white. But black cloaks me once you swarm in it, its capacity to feel empty will be transferred to my mind, it won't let me feel anything else. And white is blinding, it's colorless light is stinging, made up of feelings of remorse. It's not that easy.

One more step

The footsteps of the night approach, with a deep breath coming from lungs as each step rebounds. The sound of the opening door penetrates my ears and I hear how the door I just came through into this maze closes with thump that resounds in my ears. I'm blind, my hands guide me as they touch the walls, the walls that once in a while curse me with a crooked nail that leave a mark on my skin. Every mark will stay, I know, but I won't them stop me from reaching the door in the somber darkness.

My breaths become more prominent in the long hallway and my feet get tired of walking. But I don't stop, the reward is at the end. I know the sun is waiting for me, and it will fill my vision with warmth and remove the anxiety from my bones.

My hands finally feel the doorknob in the tips of the fingers.

Betrayers

I though my words came from the pink of the flowers.

I thought the smell of coffee gave me the letters.

I though the waves in the sand were my notebook.

I was so wrong.

My words walk between the grey of the clouds,

and they move with the cold wind until they reach my hands.

The letters don’t want the warmth of the morning,

but the loneliness and apathy of the night.

The cement between allies isn't alone,

my notebook falls in it once in a while,

determined to be stroked by my poems.

I thought my sighs stroked my cheeks,

not scaled them.

I though the moon was on my side,

not on my dreams’.

I thought my fingers freed me,

not trapped me in a constant yes or no.

I was so wrong.

I suppose it’s my thoughts

the ones that aren't on my side after all.

Go down in flames

The end is inevitable and all the surrounding trees know it. They gather the conversations in their branches, waiting for winter to turn them cold and melt into memories with the snow. The laughter and the promises are waiting to be broken by the hot summer sun, who's hopelessly begging to be born again. He is waiting to walk hand in hand with the deadline of this bond. He will laugh at their ignorance and at the girl's pretend to be part of a landscape she's been cut off by her own mind. 

The boy and girl know what will happen, they'll jump into the spring gleam in the water and drown. They will be at the bottom of the lake, wondering why and how. They'll come up, far away from each other, finally breathing realization.

She will grab the flowers and tell them how confused she was, how misplaced her butterflies were. He will curse at the birds and explain to them how she made the snow seem whiter and how she spoke words she didn't believe. "Liar!" The sky will scream next to him, making a single tear flow down her cheek. A tear made of apology and anguish from what they once were. A tear sparkling distraction and mistake. A tear that will say "I told you so, you fool."