¿Por qué esas lágrimas púrpura?

¿A qué se deben esas lágrimas púrpura?

Si tú lo tienes todo.

Existen personas que están peor que tú y no lloran nunca.

Detén esas gotas que se deslizan fuera de tus ojos.

 

Seca tus mejillas,

arregla tu maquillaje que se ha corrido,

ajústate el suéter y deja de mirar atrás.

No mereces llorar.

 

¿Por qué lloras, si eres perfecta?

Una situación como esta,

no merece que desgastes tus ojos llorando así,

como pintura púrpura que oscurece un paisaje blanco.

 

¿Sigues llorando?

Mira hacia el frente.

En algún momento,

esas lágrimas púrpura dejarán de caer.

cf9b1-dibujolagrima

Tomado de: url

Purple

Advertisements

Quién

Para ese pianista que no conozco.

¿Quién es el que hace cantar el piano al anochecer? El que con sus alegres melodías mejora mis tardes. ¿Quién es ese al que escucho tocar? El que con sus escalas pentatónicas aleja mi soledad, el que me hace compañía desde lejos, el que llena mis días de inspiración. ¿Será el de los ojos azules? O, ¿el de sonrisa brillante? Sus notas musicales tocan mi ventana y dejo atrás la monotonía de la rutina, no puedo olvidar la magia en sus interpretaciones. ¿Quién es ese que no me deja sola de noche? Quien sin conocerme, no me abandona cuando todas las luces se han apagado, ese que sólo conozco mediante la música, ese cuyo rostro no puedo ver.

Ingenioso e impresionante. Siempre recogiendo mis lágrimas con el trinar del piano, Va en crescendo su sonido cuando toca las teclas iluminado por la luz de las estrellas, sus dedos golpetean como el granizo cayendo en la ventana en medio del crepúsculo. La clave de SOL no logra definir todo lo que escucho cuando las teclas suben y bajan creando una atmósfera de paz. Dócil y suave. Siempre pienso en quién puede ser el que siempre me hace sonreír con sus ingeniosas técnicas, el único que ha logrado hacerme tararear mientras me pierdo en el pentagrama. Vehemente y apasionado. No dejo de preguntarme acerca del dueño de ese piano que acaricia mis oídos, las notas que llevo dentro de mi mente y la dulce melodía que guardo en el más profundo rincón de mi corazón.

pianista

Tomado de: url

Desperate voices

In the middle of a storm I can observe,

what life whispers behind my back.

And as I see her turn her face away,

I can see my world turning black.

 

Now I see the shy lightning bolts,

appear in the middle of the gray.

Looking directly at us.

 

Just under sinister sheets,

the shackles for now quiet and dark,

waiting for murmurations in the lonely streets,

hearing desperate voices scream outside.

 

 

Murmuration

Desolation

Desolation,

Being next to someone, you can’t talk. Lying on the couch, looking at the ceiling and hearing the clock’s tic-toc.  Everyone’s quiet, everyone’s gone and the only ones remaining are you and your thoughts. Trying to think about the years that had passed, the thing that you’ve had but nothing’s enough, you’re getting tired of your routine.

Desolation,

You start writing a letter asking them to hang out with you.

Desolation,

You erase what you’ve written because all you want is their company.

Desolation,

You get completely exasperated and run away from that place because they’re being like a swarm, chasing after you. This relationship just wouldn’t work, it’s better for you not to talk to them anymore.

Desolation again,

You want your loneliness to be with you again because if she isn’t, then you’re completely alone.

So please, desolation,

We’re trying to make a truce. The world is ruled by you, oppressed by your evil laughter. We want to avoid your temptations but we run into your arms once more. Being next to you everyday, in the bus, in the street, trying not to talk with you. Set mercy on us, forget humanity just for a second, leave us in peace, we are already used to loneliness. After all, it’s a world where we are stalked, scared and overwhelmed. We are living an endless anguish because of you…

Desolation.

 

Hi there! I’ve been so busy I haven’t got time to write here. This is kind of a letter I wrote to one of the most devastating feeling in life. Make sure to keep track of my whole collection of short stories: Paper Mâché (especially if you’re new here), I’ll be updating frequently and you can find all the stories I have uploaded here from the earliest to the latest. Today’s my birthday! So I tried to make something special to celebrate but I couldn’t so I just came up with this entry. Hope you like it. 

 

Swarm

Atmosphere

While lying in the silver lining of a cloud, I heard a strange sound. It was as if the rain was coming for me or the birds were looking for my voice. I didn’t know from where it come from, couldn’t see the place because of the fog. The sad atmosphere that comes when you suddenly remember them and it aches down in the center of your mind.

Claiming to close the windows, claiming to don’t look back, claiming to close your ears and your eyes. Trying not to see what’s happening around you. Deep tongues are talking behind your back, shallow words are knocking to the gates of your heart. Don’t let them in! You know you shouldn’t but can’t stop hearing them at the entrance of your thoughts. It’s then when you realize they have arrived breaking to pieces your self esteem. It’s now when you realize you have changed.

Those words that start to jiggle your thoughts now own your mind, it feels as if they’re written in your forehead. Those words you can’t forget, can’t erase, can’t replace but can’t digest. They appear everywhere, in everything you do, in everything you think, in everything you say. They’re printed in the clouds when you look up at the sky, following you in every step you take. It’s as if they were part of your deepest nightmares, as if they’re painted in the sea surface, as if they’re written in the center of the Earth, as if they’re scratched all across the atmosphere.

atmosphere

Taken from: url

 Center