Temo que aún no te dejo

Veo aún los rastros de tu presencia sobre mi cama;
Tus cabellos finos y ondulados,
se esconden bajo las arrugas de mi frazada, y
se enlazan entre mi cuerpo para ser apreciados
y acariciados por mis dedos al amanecer.

Huelo aún el aroma de tu esencia que
esta ya impregnada en mi almohada
y entre la memoria de mi olfato
y de tu ser.

Toco aún las huellas de tu alma que
me visitan de noche
y soñaban por las mañanas.

Siento aún el sabor de tus labios,
de tus manos,
y del frío de tus pies enredados entre los míos.

Aún mi cuento no terminó con tu salida,
ni mi esperanza
morirá con este forzado despertar.

Soñaré más fuerte con tu ausencia,
y respiraré el aire pesado de mi renacer
el cual me regalaste con tu breve presencia.

Temo que aún no te he dejado de amar.

And since when does one truly know when to let go before it’s too late?

Sometimes, we put ourselves in the line of fire for a special someone because we are led to believe that by showing how persistent we can be, that person will understand that we care for them and that they should give themselves the chance(s) to get to know your worth.  But sometimes, by putting ourselves in that very same line of fire, we (indirectly) deny our very wants and needs and become oblivious to the realization that the person who we’re so very intrigued by does not want to be fought for.

Perhaps you already know this and you’re just refusing to accept it as truth – you’re hopeful and optimistic, (characteristics gifted to you by experience?).  Perhaps you want your efforts to be acknowledged – after all, would you really put forth so much effort if you didn’t care about this person in the first place?  It is safe to assume that no one who is worth your time could be considered unworthy of your dedication or to be a waste of your affection and attention.

You sometimes enter into the given situation wearing a blindfold because you determine, (after close inspection of the nature this person displays), that all this person needs is to remove hers (or his) own “blindfold of fears” so that s/he can learn to acknowledge your efforts and lower the tall defensive walls that impede you from moving past their mystery.  You trust that this person has acknowledged your presence and needs some guidance – you become convinced that only you can offer that service; or rather, you place that responsibility upon yourself and promise to follow through with your conviction.  You learn the meaning of patience, though you do not grow virtuous.  You are not intimidated by this person’s fears and indifference.  You see a light at the end of the very long tunnel, despite the feeling of emotional distance that you experience; despite the bittersweet incommodities that keep you awake at nights.  You disregard your doubts with excuses for the person’s behaviours and forget to entertain your own wants and needs.

There comes a time when one must learn to say ‘enough is enough’ – (you have thought about it many times before, have you not?).  Walking away from something that becomes fruitless is easier in thought than in progress, but trust me when I say that it is not impossible.  When you plant a seed, you water it and keep it company, hoping that time will allow you to see its results.  And yet, sometimes, when the seed refuses to sprout, it is then when you must re-plant the seed on new fertile grounds, or simply leave it to be.  Not all roots grow a stem; neither do all the firm-looking flowers have steady roots.

There is no perfect being out there; just imitations that reflect our desires and the image of our ideal mate.  The one you think is perfect would not make you wait around in between unanswered questions.  The one you think is perfect would not test your patience or leave you to drown in a pool of doubts.  In fact, the one that you think is perfect would never ask such a thing of you – in the end, it is your own decision to stick around that will make you feel doubtful, refused, and alone.

Surround yourself in solitude from time to time and meditate on your actions.  Because, (if science has proven useful to the hopeless romantic), for every action there should be an equal, opposite reaction.  That is not to say that you should give with the hopes of receiving, but do ask yourself the following:  Does this person show as much interest or as much enthusiasm as you do?  If the answer is unclear, meditate some more.  If the answer is ‘no’, then do what is right for you and move on.

With that said, it is never easy to throw in the towel, especially when your heart has become so very attached to the essence of this person.  Sometimes we are so passionate about our ideals that we refuse to see things for the clarity that they show.  We see them in a different light because we are hopeful.  We see them in a different light because love, (or deep infatuation), can be blinding.

I just want you to know that your patience is most likely very much appreciated by the other person, even if it is not verbally expressed at times.  It is certainly not their direct intention to hurt you.  We all need physical or emotional connections; despite how jaded we grow to be due to the incessant hurts that continue to lecture us about our ideals of romance.  And yet, given the benefit of the doubt, the only one thing that can cause you continuous frustration will be your choices.  After all, you are responsible for the life you lead.

Sintiendo tristeza sin entender porque...

Si el viento pudiera quitarme la inexplicable tristeza que últimamente esta sintiendo mi corazón, le agradeceria a las tormentas de la naturaleza que se enfrentan a las ramas inquietas de mis pensamientos nocturnos.
No hay manera discreta de como relatar la sensación de abandonamiento que uno siente cuando la nube cubre la luz que antes sirvió de guía, aún cuando su pasado fue corto.

Que incómodo que es el frío que siento bajo mi pecho; el que amenaza el ritmo duro de mis latidos.  Sangre fría que me protege suena más dulce que el submergido enlace de tiernos momentos que viven puros en mi jóven memoria.

Si fuera fácil deducir que eso pasará, el tiempo no importaría, y los celos que me devoran la humanidad se calmarían tras el simple saber de que volveré a renacer - y si no por primera vez, con seguridad que sigo aún endormido por el dolor de sueños inexplicables.

Los inexpresados y estimados consuelos que acariciaban mi esperanza ahora me servirán para enterrar, (en mi pleno luto), todo lo bueno que tenía ya pensado y narrado bajo los cuentos pintados de mi valor.
La fé diluida lleva menos de los puñados que ayudaban a mi bien querer - no existe la esperanza para aquel quien lleva como destino el título de amigo.

A dozen years of patience

The man you loved is changing
As life would jade his truth;
He's faded into shadows
And painted bright his youth.

A dozen years of patience
Would test his love for you;
Although your heart's now plighted
His dream's a hopeful blue.

The man you knew is growing
Now twisted by his pride;
He's morphing into madness,
And cloaked by modern strife. 

Your silence has him waiting
Your absence leaves no clue.
So close and yet so far, again
Thus virtues seem untrue.

The man you knew is leaving
Perplexed by your detachment;
He waits a dozen years
But now your eyes bring sadness.

A dozen years of patience
Would test the lovers' youth;
And now that age is granted
This game seems far too crude.

The man you loved is changing
And you would jade his truth;
He's fading into shadows
Will you paint bright his youth?

"Te amo porque todo el Universo conspiró para que yo llegara hasta ti."

Quiero jugar un partido de amores prohibidos;

En los cuales me encuentre perdido entre dos aguas

Sumergido en tu alma al enlazar tu cuerpo con el mío.

Pues no todo lo que hago tiene sentido,

Ni tiene razón o alterno motivo;

Pero te daré el sueño eterno que he prometido,

Y te aseguro que aún cuando me resistas

Voy a seguir amándote.

Quiero perderme en el sonido de tu voz dulce;

Apoderarme de tus pensamientos, tus latidos, y

Aprovechar del tiempo que me has permitido.

Pues tengo entendido el temor de tu historia y

Del tiempo que ha dañado a tu memoria;

Pero yo aquí me quedare para liberarte de aquel castigo,

Y te aseguro que aún cuando me resistas

Voy a seguir amándote.

Quiero sentir el aroma de tu cabello;

Enredarme entre los lazos de su rebelde crecer y

Emborracharme con la sobredosis de tus dulces caricias.

Pues le agradezco al Universo por plantar aquí una semilla;

De tenernos en cuenta al cruzar nuestros caminos y

Por sorprenderme al aprender que te quise antes de conocerte;

Y te aseguro que aún cuando me resistas

Voy a seguir amándote.

Quiero amarte sin condiciones,

Aliviarte de promesas falsas,

Y sin el temor que ahora nos separa;

Y te aseguro que aún cuando me resistas

Voy a seguir amándote.

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"...Los pájaros nocturnos
picotean las primeras estrellas
que centellean como mi alma
cuando te amo."

- Neruda

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Easier Said than Done…

Sometimes, the hardest advice we can follow is the one that we graciously offer to others – because, as illogical as this may sound, “the grass is always greener on the other side.”

We unconsciously, (or subconsciously), disregard common sense when infatuation blindfolds us and leads us to walk on a thread of uncertainties and incommodities.  The feeling of pleasure that we obtain from daydreaming traps us in a made-up world of fantasies and desires that sterilizes our ability to be critical and realistic.  We become paranoid, self-conscious, selfish, and discontented with solitude.  Yet, the constant sighs and displeasures of sleeplessness are not enough to make us realize that the best thing to do is often the one option that our hopes and desires refuses to accept as reality.

For some of us, the idealist mentality – which we mistake as “being optimistic” – impedes us from seeing through the opaqueness of a situation and we underestimate the origin of questions such as:  Why long for someone who does not want to be longed for?  Why suffer in silence while waiting for an opportunity that will never make its way to your doorstep?  Why make excuses for behaviours that are so obviously drastic and unjust?  Why put up with someone who disregards your feelings for the illusion that they will come around one day?  Most of us have gone through these thought processes at one point or another and have been unable to see the clarity of the answers, (which are as obvious in their solutions as are the gambles of the heart).  Perhaps it is our human nature to want to suffer unnecessarily.  Perhaps it is our hopeless romanticism, or some form of desperate measure to avoid loneliness, which makes it easier for us to over-analyse the suddenness of situations.  Whatever the scenario may be, it is most always certain that those who have always worn their heart on their sleeve, (or those who have become quite deeply invested in their dreams), are the usual victims of their own mental wars.

But to offer sound advice to oneself is something that only the truly disciplined can achieve.  We fall prey to our own discourse and our hearts stop beating the moment they learn to think – and by this point, the mind has learned to over-think.  Trying to stand in front of a mirror and reverse the code of impermeability of thoughts in order to believe that the impossible is merely preposterous is like playing a game of chess in solitude.  Perhaps this is why we agree to seek advice from external voices – because our inner voices are the echoes of emotional issues that stem from disappointments and the innate desire to make sense of the senseless.

We offer peaceful reasoning to those we love because we do not want to watch them suffer – and, sometimes, our ability to articulate these phrases are put together by the sounds of experience, which have given us a permit to understand the colour of their lament.  By the end of the supposed lecture, their gratitude is far less rewarding than the honest fact that we were able to speak and let go of whatever we kept bottled inside.  However, as perfect as the advice may be, it is sometimes impossible to tame it as an aid in recreating our own reason – meaning, we sometimes cannot separate our own fantasy from reality, and listening to a record of our own voice is not as welcoming as our will to want to engage in a moment of sadness, (if only to remember what it is to be happy).

We all want to find that happiness that keeps us feeling complete, and yet we all fear taking a step towards it at some point, (in youth and in age).  Is it the past that immobilizes us, or the uncertainty of the unavoidable future?  Whatever the case, the answers are always there, right in front of our adaptive logic – it is only a matter of opening our eyes, and, (if only for a moment), learn to detoxify ourselves, of heart and of mind.

"Your worst battle is between what you know and what you feel."

The Scribble that sent an Echo from the Past

The young artist had learned of the importance of inspiration - it was as meaningful to him as a dream is to those who sleep.  And for him, who had learned to walk alone, she became the freedom of expression; much like the nature of spontaneous creativity is to an artist's imagination.

But like every light that cannot exist without its shadow - and like every summer that grows to be dependent on its winter solstice – it so happened that there was an immediate change surrounding this new breath of fresh air.

"I still want you in my life,” she wrote “… in one form or another." 

He had only begun to read the surface of the lines when he felt a dagger poke his insides.  Like the heavy weight of wet clothes that anchor themselves to the limbs of the desperate who reach for the surface, so was his struggle against the tentacles that protruded from his thoughts, threatening to drown him in a luxury of doubts.

Awakening him from the prolonged daydream that blinded him since the day of their acquaintance, the jolt of reason attempted to soothe his madness:  “Maybe you are over-thinking things again…” it said.

“Yes,” he replied, “I do tend to create my own wars.”

“And you always lose in the end.”

“But what’s it to you if I cannot help it?”

“You are no more an echo of that which she just mentioned.”

“And you truly favour peaceful efforts in a heart’s race against time?”

“There is truly no rush if it is meant to happen.”

“I guess you’re right…”

The young man had reclaimed his senses for the moment.  And now, staggering in between the cobblestones of public paths, he echoed the sounds of the past and wondered if this time he would be able to abide by her rule.

“…in one form or another.”

Beware the Shooting Stars

The stars were falling from the sky, flashing their smile against the darkness of the night.  They spoke phrases without words, pronounced sentences without tongues, and their lips chanted the perfect formula of delight in the stillness of thoughts.  And these thoughts were swimming through and through, floating in the air like loose threads that danced with the brisk, cool air that sent shivers down his spine.  The songs of pain and deception coloured the silhouettes of hope that only his innocent impulsivity had created.

Growing within him were the scars of jadedness that ran deep under his skin – these threatened to open their wounds with every breath he took of the scents that invaded his painted landscape.  But when he gave in to fear, he thought no more of the aches that slowly devoured his insides.  He became pale and every breath filled his lungs with desperate sighs at the idea of a new promised map of treasures that led to a land of mysteries.  And yet, he took his compass and embarked on the journey to find himself among the emptiness of thought; driven solely by a cardinal of wants and bliss.  Intuition supported his heavy steps spelling out ‘c-a-u-t-i-o-n’.

Fear now had a strong hold on him.  It paralyzed his active limbs and immobilized his insides – And it was just then, when his heart stopped beating, that he realized he was alive.

Star Language

It has been a while since I last stopped to admire the prestige of the night sky and noticed the countless fireflies that decorate its darkness.  Moreover, it has been a while since I last made the effort to find the vocabulary necessary to formulate a tasteful dialogue out of the puzzles of my various thoughts - they are scattered, always, like the stars above my naked inspection, forming an image that's guided by the alignment of the first stars.

This speechless speech I seek is neither sophisticated nor simple, and yet the dots are organically interconnected to bring a silhouetted shape to the overall madness of my early time of day... The discomfort of this illusion has me losing track of time and space.

Once more I am reminded of the beauty that surrounds me; and in a gasp for fresh air, I begin to realize my mortality -- And so I write...

Forceful awakening of Things to come

My image was sequestered in a second's note of surprise;

Taken into submission by unrepentant claws that dragged me into the darkest of alleyways -

And all that could be seen was the clear of my eyes, contradicted by fear and excitement;

Kicking and reaching for a branch of empty air, unable to scream for help

And scaled by the unsettled gasps of uneven thought.  

It was a dream like none too pleasant - and all too unrealistic to be tamed by uncertain immortality;

Being dragged by suspicion, laying blames by the dark.

It was the day of the night - when dreamers are awake and lovers sleep tight;

Emptying devotion to hopelessness, practising lone walks in the park.

Had not the cold sweats of shock awakened me from this dark reveille, I would have figured out the destiny of my forsaken mistakes.