Angst

Every time I near the finish line, the crowd disappears and I'm left alone. It's been happening for days now, loneliness creeping its way into my dreams. These nightmares are colorless, surrounded by a dull and compressed gray, filled with regrets and words gone wrong. When I wake up, my pillow is cold and hard; it feels strange.

I lay awake with fear by my side, whispering into my ear all the moments that I let slip out of my hands, all the smiles I have faked, all the turns I have taken wrong. I try to cover my ears, and to shut off the voices in my head that are agreeing with fear. But I can''t. I look at the ceiling and beg to sleep without nightmares, to be awake without regrets.

Every time I think I see the sun a grey, ugly cloud takes it place and my light is gone. It's been happening for days now, darkness taking over my days. The rain falls around me endlessly, and I am surrounded by regrets and words that went wrong. When I take my umbrella out, it breaks and leaves me soaking until my bones feel cold.

I sit down on the bench with sadness by my side, talking about all the opportunities I let slip out of my hands, all the tears I have cried, all the times I've fallen to the ground. I try to stand up, and to shut off the voices in my head that are agreeing with sadness. But my legs won't move. I look at the fallen leaves and beg to walk without rain, to see the blue sky.

Every time I breathe, I break a little inside.

The sun of Los Angeles

The sun came up and I saw her come outside. The dark haired girl with light eyes looked lost; her walk  gave her away as a tourist looking for the beauty in the city of commotion. I followed her through the unorganized streets, while she observed the colors that she once used to paint the picture of her home. With her long hair and old shoes, she stopped in front of the fountain in the middle of the plaza. I saw her breathe in the hot air, and laugh when the music reached her ears. Next to the crystalline water and the strangers, she sat during hours. She seemed to be waiting for her memory to take her far away from her downfall. At noon I saw her get up from the bronze bench. Her face lit up. She smiled as if she had discovered her smile for the first time. I looked at the direction of her smile and I saw three pairs of eyes who were smiling back. The greatest hug occurred between the four girls in the middle of the plaza.

The blue sky was witness to the reunion of infinite friendships. Next to known souls, the dark haired girl wasn't lost, but radiant, with the sun shinning in her face like it had years ago during those long hours spent in the grass. Laughing between memories, the girls went back to being the same as before they separated and, thanks to the change in the city of angels, they promised to keep saying nonsense between the stores, and dancing when distance and time broke them apart again.

I observed the dark haired girl with light eyes until the sun went down. I laughed at a distance when I saw her dance without caring about her age, and I lamented the absence of everlasting days when I saw her run between the books to read the diary of past years. Her companions, all shinning next to the stars, showed her the lyrics of the song she hadn't heard and, by the end of the night, they formed a song that would last another eight years.

With the tide

While I look at the sea, I watch the waves take a year of memories. The months are written in the sand, and taking its time, the sea erases them, leaving space for the next numbers of the calendar.

January is written with a fast and disorganized hand. It marks the beginning of lost months, confused between the hear and mind, wanting and doing, the past and the present. The waves take January with out regret.

February is more legible, showing routine, icy snow, and friendship bonds. But this month leaves with sadness, also showing lost wishes and fallen opportunities.

March is written with elegance, knowing that it was important in leaving a mark in the future forever.  Hopes made March stand next to the sand, but closed doors make the waves take March to the bottom of the ocean.

April can be seen in two languages, showing the desperation of wanting to know which direction to take next to my life. Spanish and English confuse, and make the waves move like the paths in front of me did on those long days.

May is written in brunette and gold. Its letters don't want to be erased from the sand, due to the best moments of the year being held in them . May tells the tales of sunsets in the blue lake, goals that were reached, and long lasting friendship.

June shines. Next to June are written an expected and nostalgic ending, and a beginning with hearts and a persistent love.

July is written next to music letters, for being sung, shortly but with passion. The waves erase July while singing.

The letters of August are delicate, showing adventures decorated with colors. This month talks about the treasures of life: coffees in strange cities, sounds of the wind when traveling, walking in calm and colorful streets, the sweetness of a love of opposites, the beginning of a new chapter, and the first step as an adult.

Once the waves have taken August, September, October and November are seen together. These months were impressed by the fast pace of weeks, and the chaos of an organized life. They went up and down, they smiled, they learned, they fell in love, they loved, they danced, they sang, they ran. They waves run with them,

December can be seen written perfectly, determined to end the year with permanent memories and future illusions. December vibrates next to the sea, knowing that what it lived will never be forgotten. The waves hesitate before erasing it, marking the end of the twelve months that changed the rhythm of the waves.

The year has run like the water, it has gone up and down like the tide, it has seen sunrises and sunsets with salt and sweet water. My year has moved, it has made me live with cold feet and hot heart.