Margaritas

¿Me quiere?… ¿No me quiere?

Una margarita me dijo que su corazón pertenece a alguien más, una margarita me dijo que aún está tratando de olvidar. Ayer esa misma margarita me dio esperanzas y hoy me destroza el corazón. Rompe mis ilusiones con cada uno de sus pétalos, vuelve a repararlas con suspiros. Recoge mis lagrimas, se las lleva con el viento. Esa margarita ahora me dice que no puedo regresar, que su corazón está comprometido, hoy esa margarita me arranca los anhelos y se los guarda para ella.

La misma margarita que un día me prometió que todo iba a salir bien, el mismo jardín que susurraba su nombre. Margarita que me escuchó leer en voz alta los cuentos escritos en el fondo de mi corazón, que nunca abandonó las esperanzas de una película de romance. Hoy toma entre sus manos esas esperanzas y las lanza contra el piso. Un libro, una mirada. Una palabra, una sonrisa. Y a medida que la historia avanzaba, la cercanía aumentaba. Definiciones sin concretar, sueños sin aprobar y una eterna espera mirando el teléfono son lo que me queda.

¿Me quiere?… ¿No me quiere?

Veo su sonrisa en la soledad, sus ojos en la oscuridad. Escucho su risa en el silencio y me resuenan sus palabras mientras camino a casa.

¿Me quiere?… ¿No me quiere?

Porque yo sólo me siento en ese jardín, observando a mi alrededor y contando cada margarita que pierde la vida por él.

 

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Two weeks

A month, the time left to forget.

A year, I left it behind.

A twinkling star reminds me the sparkle in his eyes and a sweet melody reminds me the color of her eyes. A dark night brings to my memory his seriousness and a blow of fresh air shows me their images printed on the sky.

A month may be too much, a year may be too late. But two weeks is perfect, two weeks for a couple to fall in love, two weeks to smile or two weeks to finish a book. It doesn’t matter, there are still two weeks.

If you can’t in a year, or in a month, then wait for those two weeks. The time I’ve got left to forget, to let go, to move on. And it doesn’t matter what I do, there are still going to be two weeks. Two weeks made of spring, sunsets and flowers. Two weeks that defy time, that keep frozen in my mind, but I know, sooner or later, I will have to bury them along with the rest of my past. Just give two weeks and I promise I will

Still around. Always haunting. It’s time betraying me once again, it’s life returning to her actual pace. It’s his smile frozen throughout the hours, it’s his laughter hidden between the trails of wind. It’s his happiness fading with the fog. Just give me two weeks and I promise I’ll forget him.

Unable to forget, I keep all of them in my heart and I will keep them there until the end of these eternal two weeks.

 

Bury

Sails

Like a boat abandoned in the middle of the ocean,

we aren’t able to see.

What we are sailing,

when we try to flee.

 

Like the inspiration running down the streams,

of the perfect illusion,

of perfect dreams.

 

A surrealist painting,

handling salt.

Driven by the wind,

with a landscape full of bittersweet.

 

Now, looking at the ocean,

and its foamy surface.

I look through a mirror

with it’s same purpose.

 

Don’t give up.

Look at the thousand ships around you,

waiting to set sail,

waiting to be tamed.

sails

Taken from: url

 

 

Sail

Wave back

Takes it all but never gives, he carries with our past, our present and our general life. One moment he’s here and the other he’s gone. A shadow waving at us while passing in front of our eyes. He sing, he’s free, he never gives up on the people he helps. Doctor, healer, teacher and counselor, as many names as enigmas he has. He grabs history, science and religion in his hands and tells the whole story without leaving gaps. He keeps secrets but be careful because as uncertain he can be, he’s able to betray at the first opportunity he gets. Traveling at the speed of light and flying above our heads. Laughing at our useless attempts to run faster than him.

We are in his hands. He plays with our thoughts, crosses our paths with others and can take unexpected directions. He just waves at us and laughs because he knows we are in the palm of his hands. And I’m talking about that playful guy that put and removes, that brings and then takes away. The passenger that never gets off. We can’t slow him down or make him go faster. Capricious, ungrateful and treacherous. Playful, rogue and unpredictable. But wise as none. Always present in our lives but a passenger in them as well. He travels in front of our eyes and all we can do is wave back at him.

 

 

A hug for you, time, the only passenger that remains here.

 

Passenger