The deep blue bellow the withered sky
whispers the secrets of time.
Tired feet make little footprints on the sand;
tangled hair is unbothered by the wind;
and hands, lonely hands grasp a broken watch.

The lifeless sun shines before eyes that wander
where the mountains went to hide
when the petals gave to autumn
why distance made such claim.

Dark pupils see only the lonely rock
standing in the water,
unmoved by the soft roar of the night.

An eternal summer

I remember the day the sun shined like never before. The sun rays made their way through the leaves of the trees and illuminated the park with happiness. I can still feel the heat in my veins and your breath on my cheek. We were alone with the silence. Hours passed by slowly, letting us enjoy that August morning that will never leave our memories. I still have the key you gave me in my pocket, with your promise to see me again.

I remember that night next to the stars. My heart still thinks of your lips next to mine and your hands on my waist. We were stuck to the present and the lyrics of the song I still listen to every night before dreaming of your eyes. I remember crying of laughter with your silliness and knowing the summer wouldn't leave us when autumn came. You still have my red kiss on your cheek, with my promise to see you again.

I remember those moments between the walks and the glances. Your smile was an oasis in the hot days in the mountains of Madrid. We were lost in the past and the future, without caring what would happen when the clouds would take me. I still breathe the words we said without fear and the times we laughed with our friends about how time changes. We still have the dance steps in our feet, with our promise to let destiny run its course.

I remember that summer like it was yesterday.

Reunion

The first day the memories moved through the conversation. They stirred the night and looked for their place between the drinks and the dances. The sparks were to afraid to move, to not alter the path of the stars. They protected the night and let happiness slip in, which got stuck to the glances between the two teenagers and later slept with the sunrise.

The second day dressed itself in blue, to not forget the nostalgia that distance once created. Between words hugs appeared and familiarity replaced fear.

On the third day the sun let them be themselves again. Well-known smiles jumped between the trees and memories got our of their hiding place and were the guests of honor in the park. Hours passed by slowly, letting an innocent love go back to the past.

The fourth day came with the moon. The diary of the first love opened and continued to write pages. With laughs and wishes kisses appeared and drew a heart between the streets and the leaves of the trees. The heart was red, full of passion for the past and hope for the future. For one night, destiny let the two teenagers live reality.

Hate

As she sits on the train begging for life to move faster, the clock isn't ticking. She has her head in her hands, and silent tears are falling down her face. Her hair is falling around her face, as so are her memories. She is soaked by the regret, the inevitable sadness, and the music that isn't letting her go. People move all around her, getting up and sitting down. But she's stuck. A little voice by her head won't let her move. The voice pleads with desperation, screams with rage, and cries with reason. She can feel the words cut her like knives. She knows there's nothing she can do to stop them, and even if she did, she wouldn't. She deserves them.

She lifts her head from her hands and stares out into the ugly gray sky. Her eyes flutter as moments appear in front of her, moments that contradict themselves. The clouds gather on the outside and the drops start to fall. She wants to scream that she's sorry, but the thunder has stolen her voice. Her hands move desperately trying to find the way to stop anxiety and guilt from taking over her.

As she sits on the train begging for life to move faster, the clock stops.

Blue

I got lost in the sea and I didn't have coffee. The sun tried to wake me up, but the sound of the waves took me to dream with the mermaids. I looked for the desert island, but the clouds were the only ones who appeared. The blue that surrounded me gave me goosebumps and made my heart beat to the rhythm of the sea.

The boat I was in deviated from the path and took me to the other side of the ocean, where the birds didn't fly and the fish helped me jump to see the dreams of tomorrow. I couldn't control the direction and I drowned in the sea of new hopes. I lost my breath when the mermaids appeared in front of me and my eyes saw an infinite sapphire blue.

Clouds

I'm sorry I
couldn't bare your burden
I'm sorry I
stopped fighting when you
needed me.

Your mind shines
like the sun,
but mine is just learning
to see
the little light that
comes through the window.

Your days are
roller coasters
and I'm afraid of
heights.

When you are
at the top of the ride,
I'm looking at
the ground wishing to
have my feet on
the earth.

My mind wishes
to fly through
clouds with you,
but my heart is
scared to get lost out there.

I'm sorry I
couldn't love you enough
I'm sorry I
stopped running when you
were near the finish line

Your eyes look like
the moon,
but mine are still
getting used to the sight of the starts.

Your nights are
hurricanes
and I'm afraid of
the wind.

When you are
at the eye of the storm,
I'm wishing for
the sun to rise
behind the mountains.

My mind wishes
to fly through
clouds with you,
but my hearts is
scared to get lost out there.

Winter

I agree with the majority when they say life hits them in the face. Time comes prepared with winter clothing, while we're standing bare naked, begging for some shelter. Our bare feet touch the snow with care, while the thrones from spring are slowly making us bleed without mercy. Our eyes are crying silent tears, because the cold has decided to silence our calls for warmth. We beg for the sun with our hands, putting them forward to the trees. Life doesn't respond, it only stares back at us in the form of snow flakes.

The wind howls, preparing itself to knock us down and gather our bones when there is no skin left. We try to move, but the frostbite is making our bodies into sculptures. Our hands are frozen next to our hearts, trying to see if there's any part of them left untouched. The pounding of our chests has stopped, and the wind has made its way between the trees. It throws us to the ground, and our icy bodies break. We become part of the fallen cold.

Take me

Tell me that you want to dance. Whisper in my ear all the words I've been too scared to hear before. Put your hands on my hips and lead my body to move with the beat of the song. Teach me how to put one foot in front of the other without stumbling. I want to feel your breath on my cheek while wearing my heart on my sleeve.

Tell me that you want to dance. Kiss me until our lips hurt. I want to feel your touch on my skin. Take me through the dark streets and tell me stories about lovers surviving in the dark. Teach me how to love without boundaries. Whisper in my hair all the words I've been to scared to accept before. 

Tell me that you want me from the moment the sun comes up until the moment the moon leaves.

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.

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.