Fire. That's what happened that day. Just a tiny sparkler, nothing too fancy, no evident danger. Yet, the day they came into my life became engraved in my memory, a fire never to go extinguished, but that was meant to grow instead and get out of control at times while being still so perfect and beautiful and bright. My own fire. I could not help, but to love them.

The first one was a cannonball. Roaring into my arms and taking up things. Unstoppable. My will to live and my failed dreams embracing her alike, for one thing about cannoballs, is that they're loud and they wreck. They change the landscape and they make good teachers. All beauty and colors, all suphur and death and new life. My cannon ball, she's truly the love of my life, because ever since she was born, loving her has been the work of my life.

The second one, came in a dark, quiet evening. So unwilling, my M-80 ready to blow like a ticking bomb. He used to love to sleep. The dormant gunpower I didn't mind keeping in my bed. I didn't mind. Now he's a firecracker, spining around, bursting in colors, alive and awake. He's no longer asleep. And I enjoy the buzz, I'd embrace him curling upwards in endless sparkles, making me dizzy and awed and scared all at once, then making a nasty bang, like a gun going off.

The gun I love. The cannon ball I love.

The fireworks that I would never want any other way, which no ordinary flashlight could ever be. 

No flashlights for me.

But now, my fireworks are gone. I guess that's the price for being that special. 

And I miss them. I miss their fire and their beauty, the precise balance required just to keep it safe.

Just to enjoy their grandiose light flashing amidst the dark.

The Eyes of Azael

Have you ever fantasized about clutching someone's eyes in your hands?


The Eyes of Azael (Horror mini-story)

30 de septiembre de 2013

A veces estás donde nadie más podría estar. Entonces mi corazón deja de ser mío por un momento y late solitario en un mundo de mil ensoñaciones -todas ellas trágicas y hermosas- mudas y ligeramente salpicadas de dolor. 
Eres a veces lo único. Perfecto y absoluto en el plano de lo imposible, viviendo en gotas de sal
Que se cierne en laberintos sin salida 
Que saluda a la Luna solamente de día 
Que amo tanto sin saber por qué.
Yo sé bien, aunque quieras no puedes abrazarme:
Cuando crees tenerme entre tus brazos, en realidad estoy perdida
Lejos del sueño que para ti alguna vez fui.

Role Model

"You shouldn't be like me" I'd tell her, "You're far more intelligent and prettier. You are not old, like me".

...And "being old" is not about being thirty, you know? Being old is about giving up on ourselves to become adults. It's about feeling numb and knowing all the answers. Because love and joy and happiness are unproductive and consume too much time. And, when one is old, one's always running out of time. Until you finally do run out of time.

Sometimes I had to brush my hair: The little one would come up to me and hand me the brush; then, she'd hand me the lipstick and a mirror. "I like it when you style your hair and paint your lips, mama", she'd say. "I'm not your mama", I would reply. "Oh, I know you're not my mama. But since my mother is at work and I am here at school, I have no mama here, and I don't want to be motherless. So can I call you mama?" Finding no valid reason to decline, I complied. Then she'd stand right in front of me, hand me the lipstick again, and tilt her head while giving me an intended look, pointing at her lips. She loved it when I pretended to do her lips with my lipstick.

"Why is Camille crying? -I asked my protegée- She says you took her cookies; is that true, dear?" "But of course, I didn't!" She responded, matter-of-factly. "That would be mean," said she, with a mischievous grin impossible for me to ignore, "Besides, I have no need to be taking anyone else's stuff. I have all the cookies in the world"... "Oh, that's great! -I said- then, you won't mind sharing some of these with her".

But the best of all was the surprise hugs. Those that came out of nowhere almost squeezing the life out of me. Except, she's tiny and such a thing would have never been possible. She said she could hug me better than her "real mama" because "She's chubby and I can not really wrap my arms around her". And then she'd add: "I'd like to be like you when I grow up". "You shouldn't be like me" I'd tell her, "that's too low for you; you're far smarter and more beautiful".

Eclipse

Eres el espacio después de la página final.
Eres mis ganas de cerrar los ojos y callar para siempre.
Soy vida que se apaga.
Soy piel trasparente; escalofríos, dolor.
No soy bienvenida.
Eres el sol atravesando mis ojos.
Yo soy la noche.

Quizá no estoy aquí: quizá estoy en otro universo
de los muchos que coexisten
y en tu mente sonrío y estoy viva
aunque no pueda respirar.

Clareando

De repente, te das cuenta de que la vida cambió, No vale decir que para bien o para mal: simplemente, es distinta. Y ya no puedes llamarle "realidad" a aquello que abrazabas. Hoy, son solo recuerdos. Palabras de origen confuso que deben estar aquí porque "alguien" las puso, de ayer, de mañana, de hoy, de nunca, de siempre...

Andamios

Love happens; and in my experience, it is a miracle.
Things that I believed I was incapable of, suddenly seemed more than likely; and I am loving it. As I stepped outside of the house where my daughter and myself lived for a long time, I was wondering how did I end up here. And I could find no sensible explanation.

I tell you: love is a miracle -or at least a very unlikely, unreproducible event managed by mysteroius forces-.