Light over darkness.

Day brought a light as grey as my own feelings.

You told me once you associated languages to certain people. Heard that before: with situations, emotions, context. But not people, for some reason, although it makes perfect sense. I think that idea kind of sticks to me still now, so everytime my emotions are dyed in your colors - purple, stone grey -, I tend to naturally shift to English myself.

This is..., Harder than I expected.  I did write about you several months ago, hoping it'd be the first and the last time. 

You've overstepped the boundaries many times. So have I. I don't wanna let go of the many things we shared, the things we've...said. the things you are. What you bring out in me.

It's like everything you've said is recorded into my mind somehow. I...uh..., I remember that last night, when you admited you wanted to see me happy from the bottom of your heart. Gave me some good advice back then, and now again, even tho everything is ALWAYS so difficult with you, drama king.

But love is not supposed to be difficult. Real one, at least, is not. It's natural as sunlight, pure as oxygen. Naturally flowing, like one's breath.

This is me following your advice. Being happy, choosing wisely. Mind over body. Where could we go anyway, honestly? Maybe in a different world... A different time...

And you'll never know about any of this. Ain't it kinda funny? Took me ages to get you to open up just a tiny bit for me, to start sharing true feelings, memories, hopes, fears... Then, hours of conversation just kept flowing naturally through us. And now, I'm about to shut you off, away. Until it's over... Until we're over.

Funny enough, this...thing, whatever it is, only took place in my head. So it's time for me to retire and lick my wounds, Stone.

Bye.

Confused...

No entiendo qué está pasando estas últimas semanas... O meses, quizá;  mientras mi corazón late a destiempo, confundido entre dos ritmos muy diferentes, mis atontados recuerdos se demoran en lugares más felices de mi vida, en arenas blancas, fosos, paseos, horizontes infinitos, espuma blanca, medusas varadas en la orilla, perezosas tardes de pesca, siestas en el césped con la barriga llena de sandía, el agradable sol moribundo de un atardecer de septiembre, leyendo frente al Atlántico.

Apocalypse.

Qué día tan bonito, pensé. Era casi una pena que estuviéramos en lo mejor de la mejor de las estaciones del año y no pudiéramos disfrutarlo. Sol, nubes dispersas, un cielo que invitaba a zambullirse en él, tibieza, olor a primavera.

El vacío de las calles, sin embargo, rompía con el ambiente. De alguna manera, resultaba irónico que no lloviera durante la única semana santa en cierto tiempo que la gente no podría salir a disfrutar. No es que a mí me importe ni lo más mínimo, para ser sincera, pero en esta clase de días... una espera encontrarse con las terrazas llenas, la gente paseando, corredores aislados, movimiento, vida.

Si pasas junto a las casas, la oirías, eso sí. Aunque hay ciertas cosas que uno no espera experimentar en la vida - una de ellas, un apocalipsis vírico - el bullir de la vida dentro de las casas y pisos de la ciudad compensa por la silenciosas soledad de las calles vacías. Caminando lentamente, arrastrándome casi por entre los adoquines para aprovechar lo mejor del sol de media tarde, suspiré de nostalgia mientras escuchaba llamadas, conversaciones, música, locutores de radio y grititos infantiles en los patios y jardines de las urbanizaciones vecinas.

Fuera o dentro, seamos sinceros, el ambiente se ha enrarecido. ¿Cuál es la chispa de salir a este exterior yermo, en serio? ¿quién puede disfrutar de una vida coartada, por bonitos que sean los rayos de luz que iluminan la vida incipiente en las copas de los árboles?

La tensión es densa como mantequilla. Casi podría cortarla y untarla en pan.

Standby

Nights. I know I said before how nights are the perfect moment for tranquil redemption. How I was eased by it's peacefulness and how I liked to picture what could be going on everywhere, anywhere, from love to crimes, from fantasy to reality.

Words are indeed very powerful, almost as much as imagination. Words can change someone's life for good, from "you should say your goodbyes" to "I love you". I believe I have had quite a share of powerful words so far, life changing displays of letters and phonemes, but not everything just yet. I'm still waiting for a few of them - specifically from one person.

But that's not the point. What I wanted to reflect in here is how words allow us to depict something's appearance as either wonderful or terrifying. I'm not saying it's all just a lie, but a side of truth for someone, at a specific time...

It could be true for me, just for a moment, if only I could throw out a message of hope with the upcoming day.

It was a very cold morning today. I took a break from work and went out to the terrace to watch how the pastel colours of the sun made the stars fade way. The smell of humidity, the cold, birds' chirping..., it all remind me of my youth somehow: summer school camps, early rugby trainings, late walks home with my shoes on one hand.

I know I said I love the easiness of the night, but there's nostalgia in my mind now. Everything good came by with the hopes of a new day, a new beginning if you will. Daylight is warmness, brightness, the end of the standby and the beginning of action. Daylight is when things take place, when life happens.

It's funny that this is the way we came to find each other. We made the wheels turn again, bursting into life... Right in the standby of the world.

Nights...

If someone’s rational about it, you would probably say that the biggest perks of working a night

shift are related to the plus cash you get in your wage by the end of the month, the

peacefulness of the working office, the easiness in terms of finding a parking lot or skipping on

the morning jams. You could even consider the convenience to match your job with other

schedules, such as uni ones. It’s true tho, but that’s not it.

I wouldn’t say I like working night shifts, nor I hate them. Truth is, I don’t really mind, I could do

anything. Although I’m highly motivated by this environment, being realistic, the true reason I

enjoy the night is, most probably, the sky.

Ah, humidity in the air smells nice. The music of crickets, unstopped above every other not

existent sound. Voice echoes. It’s refreshing, awakening.

As a romantic, I’m a huge fan of the mysteries of the night. Time for crimes and murder in most

of my favorite novels; also a perfect timing for affairs and runaways. A time for a warm, cozy

cuddle with your s.o; as anything can happen in the dark.

For some reason, they just bring a very comfortable silence into my life. Almost as if my never

stopping inside voice got to shut down for a bit. I remember being a kid and sitting onto the

window to stare at the night sky when I could not sleep. Same at the hospital, watching the

dawn break into the Peace with its shy yet bright colors. The perfect moment for a late (or early)

book. For a quick chat with that boy from next door I liked; a beer and some nuts over a bench,

still wearing my pajama, with this former hookup. I think night’s definitely a good moment to stop

life and treasure some very special memories with the right people.

Like these very late late convos...

Holding on for a miracle

Everybody get's tired at some point. It's easy to get bored when your life gets reduced at the very same points and procedures all the time. Wake up, run, work, run, workout, run, eat, run, count calories, run, clean, cook, keep running, run some errands, get back...'sleep'... and repeat. Always late, always breathless, always chasing, constantly worried.

I'm too young to be this tired, indeed. Tired of being sad, defeated by my own bloody mind. Tired of being tired, sleepless, sick of making such huge effort with everything. Tired of being skinny and hungry and weak all the time. Tired of the same memories, the same nightmares. I feel old. I feel hopeless. It's like... I'm too lazy to live one more day like this.

Tired of looking ahead and finding no good reasons to keep going. Just more dull boredom and endless efforts awaiting.

I wish I could just give up already.

¡Adiosi!

Es una realidad que nunca he tenido buena suerte con mis amigos, como lo es que siempre hay dos responsables en cada lado de la historia. Yo soy orgullosa, cabezota, competitiva, dejada. inoportuna, un desastre leyendo a la gente y, peor aún, escogiéndola. Me llevó un tiempo darme cuenta de que mi constante interés romántico en gente que me maltratase, o bien física, o bien psicológicamente, era perfectamente trasladable al tipo de influencias negativas que potenciaron durante mucho tiempo lo peor de mí como presuntas amistades.

Por consiguiente, y de manera también perfectamente análoga, siempre me las arreglo para separar de mí a las personas que merecen la pena, tanto en el ámbito amoroso como en el campo de las relaciones "amistosas". Me pregunto por qué y cómo me las arreglo para que siempre sea así; pero tampoco me preocupa demasiado. Hace tiempo, después de mucha pena y más soledad todavía, decidí que no quería ni necesitaba amigos, solo gente con la que salir de vez en cuando si estaba aburrida. La gente se volvió irrelevante para mí, y cada vez que alguien me incomoda o me inoportuna, lo tacho de mi vida. Decidí que, mientras tuviera mi núcleo duro, tendría todo lo que me hace falta para ser feliz, un grupo selecto de personas por las que daría la vida y que sé que darían cualquier cosa por mí. No quería más.

No quiero más.

Esto es solo otra persona que se marcha.

Que te vaya bien. Si algún día necesitas algo, ya sabes... búscate la vida.