I sat at the edge of the old bridge, awaiting the unobtainable.

I looked past the layer of smoke that escaped my breath and stared at the Moon in its fullness - and its greatest light instilled in me a recollection of fond memories and the sudden realization that fantasy could not cope with the most ideal of my realities.  Never again would the Sun rise from its chilly horizon.

Perhaps in another lifetime, I thought.

The sudden desire to scream the magic of the unimaginative blurred my instinct and the vision of the unamused.  Sitting alone, I heard the prayers of an old religion - it revealed my daily sins to the hearts of the unattainable, ( and soon after they became 'the unworthy').  Only the Moon hid my pain with great illusion and kept the fidelity of my imbalanced sensibility, while the common rhythms of my fragile nature skipped the sense to maintain the white noises of my darkness in the night.

Yes, I thought to myself once more, perhaps in another lifetime.

All split personalities reveal the same truths in different manners.

"I can see you having a split personality," she said
We all do, I argued.
"One minute you're drawing comics and the next you pour your soul into words."
That's still the same person, I smiled back. Comics are masked feelings; words are the make-up that melts away to reveal the truth.

She smiled as she took in my words before I continued.

All reveal the same disturbances.
"Ok, you're a writer; point made," she said as she took a sip of her tea. "You're a disturbed writer."
I wouldn't disagree, I smiled back, looking into her eyes for a response to my dialogue.
"Be proud of that," she continued, "now I understand why you wither away at nights while I get my beauty sleep."

That moment when you see the photo pop out of nowhere

You seek to move on, so you do - and it is grand!
Yet a part of your memory retains what little could be salvaged, though not ever by choice.
The breaths of fresh air are healthier, and night has found a way to tuck you in before dawn.
Then you stumble upon a photo of your past and realize the changes were mutual - though if not emotional, they are certainly physical.

The bright red strands of hair now turned to an opaque black, as dead as the crows, are suitable for the condition - and the memory once cherished has moved on (though oddly enough, it has moved backwards from where it once came).
Yes, it is in that moment when your eyes meet the sparkling greens that once glared at your own mysteries;  though they seem to stare no further than their reflection - shoukran! And cheers is heard all inside the room, toasting with a glass of red that will most certainly end in a night of drunken touch.
How one image can impose a step, when all that is recalled by stranger presences is the hatred of intrusions that arrived from its neighbouring province - the instant reaction is but a blur.

But then the image is closed and you smile because your gut feeling never betrayed you - always trust your instincts! It was in the smile of the prettiest of faces that your discomfort awoke.
So you disconnect and spread the sheets to be filled by dreams, because it is in that moment, when you stumble upon that photo, that you receive your closure and you no longer care to hold on.

El escondite no tiene sentido cuando el escondido no tiene razón

"Mi corazón, como una sierpe,

se ha desprendido de su piel,

y aquí la miro entre mis dedos

llena de heridas y de miel."

 -GARCIA LORCA

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Fue así que su piel se desprendió de mis caricias; 
y mis suspiros, aniquilados por sus tentaciones nocturnas,
ya no sufren por el reconocimiento de sus falsos sentimientos.
Las heridas diarias de sus contra-ofertas quedan solo como manchas
entre las huellas de mis manos.

El recuerdo de ella, cómo se desvanece en el tiempo,
ya ni me abstiene de los rencores que he guardado desde aquellos sueños olvidados.
Mi corazón siempre será un desarreglo a su imagen, pero nunca más va a sangrar por su desgraciada ausencia.

¡Qué dulce es saborear la libertad impuesta que me he ganado a través de las cicatrices con las que me abandonó!. Si realmente se trataba de un juego que jugamos para herir el uno al otro, entonces nuestros ojos fueron cegados a la búsqueda de la verdad de nuestra existencia.

El escondite no tiene sentido cuando el escondido no tiene razón.