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.