Cassini

When the finally rotten strawberries, the apple hanging in the tree falls, there will be a replica of the place we call home. When the sun stop shining over us and start running cold is when you can say that time will be gone. When the lighthouse in the rain shake and break is when us humans will have lost our trace. When the ship in the water get down is when the rose garden will be finally destroyed.

When people won’t be able to look at the sky without having their eyes in disguise is when Voyager 1 may end up its trip. When the aliens portray themselves with paper mâché is when you can tell there’s nothing worth to take.

When Pluto’s orbit and Planet 09 crash, it won’t be necessary to fall apart in ash and when the rabbits’ ears last forever or their paws give sorrow instead, that day you will be already hanging from a thread. When fireflies stop lighting the night above, is when the right thing will come.

And I could continue to go ahead with the long list of fears no one may stand.

But when Cassini reaches the stellar mantle, when by its side Neptune will be near, that’s when we can say Planet Earth will succumb under fear.

 

 

Succumb

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Bouquet

He ran through the park under the starry night, the august wind passing across his hair. He ran through the street, through dark alleyways and lonely avenues. He left behind the safety of the street lamps and entered in the darkness of the night. He bought a bouquet of flowers and kept running, passing through tall trees and gloomy snow.

And as he ran, he passed rainy buildings, turned sharply on corners and the sky seemed to clear, to go lighter. The steps became swifter and faster and the snow started to fall. As his shoes splashed on the puddles, his bouquet bloomed adorned with the sky’s teardrops.

The rain drops played the chords of the violin to with rhythm the city sang and his steps gave the touch of the endless symphony. The magic orchestra felt everlasting as he crossed the city. The car lights sparkling in front of his eyes and the wind whistling near his ear. As he arrived to his destination, he raised his eyes to the sky and night covered his thoughts.

Just as his disappointment arose, he ran wildly again through the rainy, cold night to take the cloaked bouquet now crying of loneliness in his hand to that beautiful stranger staring from under the faint street lamp over there.

rosa abandonada

Taken from: url

 

Cloaked

Chocolate aroma

She stared out the window while sitting in the habitual rocking chair. She grabbed a ball of yarn in the hand and two needles. She saw those two kids playing outside in the park, a girl and a boy laughing in the swings. Soon, she perceived a delightful smell coming from the kitchen, where her husband was preparing some hot chocolate. Meanwhile, she continued looking through the window at the two innocent children having fun. The sun was setting and the fresh grass grew higher than usual. A magic breeze blew the girl’s hair and their harmonized laughter fills the air.

She crocheted once again sitting in the rocking chair and looking out the window, two teenagers sitting peaceably in the swings, talking while holding hands. The habitual chocolate aroma coming out the kitchen, her husband was making hot chocolate once again. This time, a tear ran down her face, he possessed something he didn’t deserve and she knew he would go someday. Her melancholy grew along with the chemistry between the two teenagers. When the days were filled with intense passion.

She had fallen asleep while watching the TV at the same rocking chair. Her energy was decreasing and she felt everyday more tired that the previous one. She looked at the park beside the house and saw two young adults sitting on a bench, kissing passionately as autumn crept in. Leaves fell around them but they weren’t aware of the real world. She got up the chair to turn the stove off and serve the hot chocolate, her only company in that huge house.

She looked up from the book, the noise wasn’t letting her focus on her reading. She stared out the window for a moment and saw a couple walking in front of the house, pushing a baby carriage. She showed a wrinkled smile that just faded when her eyes directed to the builders demolishing the old park, the old swings and that rusty bench. She missed that chocolate aroma, that restrained touch that saw them grow, that came from company, the irrelevant chocolate aroma always tracking her down and that made her feel less alone.

 

Irrelevant

Reckless

Life and dreams are peculiar, contradictory and slippery. They are a reckless rollercoaster that go both ways. You could choose to avoid that reckless path of dreams but you may be denying true life.

Because when you dream, you’re risking to have nightmares.

Dreaming is not easy, you can fall to the ground and sometimes it’s even harder to get up. You can be beaten and fail. Dreaming is a reckless trance, full of free falls and dead ends. Full of labyrinths and lost clues. Full of cruel darkness and closed doors. But there’s always light at the end of that reckless path, there’s always a way out and a perfect door that will take you the right way.

You can choose not to fall down the trance at noon, when people start chasing their dreams. Or you can go down the peculiar path of the never-ending labyrinth. Dreaming is a reckless shadow that pays with the same coin. That flies high on winter days and slows down when summer arrives.

So you could choose to fear everything, not to go deeper, not to love, not to dream but not to live. Because when you dream, you’re risking to have nightmares, you’re risking to feel the reckless part of the slope. But it’s better to feel alive chasing nightmares than to die in a perfect paradise.

 

 

Peculiar

Bittersweet

Life’s Color has turn half bittersweet,

because he would rather fall in chocolate,

than fall in love.

And I keep waiting right on the street.

 

Like the trill of a bird it sounds,

whenever he talks.

And under a hidden cloud,

his laughtEr walks.

 

Only to the sky,

his Smile can compare.

And I see just sparks fly,

whenever he stares.

 

It’s easier to recall the periodic table,

than wait for a glance.

Because I can’t find the courage,

to ask him for dinner or to dance.

 

Just look at the ocean to understand,

the hundred drops that are able,

to keep the hArmony,

in this crazy trance.

 

What can I say if you ask me about this?

Just that my life is bittersweet.

Because he would rather drown in chocolate,

than fall in love.

 

And I’ll be here for now,

looking inside those deep, brown eyes.

Noticing that an eagle is passing just in front,

that mahogany sunRise.

 

“As you doze of tonight, I’ll toss and turn. As your sweet dreams take flight, I’ll crash and burn. While you’re heart flutters free, I still can’t breathe. As you stir in your sleep… I hope you think of me.”

-Owl city.

 

 

Trance

Crazy as it goes

Loving him goes crazy,

for all the times he keeps me guessing.

Don’t know what’s going to happen next.

Uncertainty with all its effects.

 

Wondering where he’s taking me,

I talk as we leave society behind.

Willing to run away,

and now I’m waiting for the following surprise.

 

He paints my world blue and red,

can’t be compared to what I’ve read.

He makes my life give a million turns,

feel how my nerves burn.

 

My partner always leads the way,

and tells me to close my eyes.

He takes my hand and whispers in my ear,

saying that he never uses ties.

 

Suffering a running love,

that keeps me inside of a maze.

And I see the sparkle in his gaze,

when he makes me live my life,

crazy as he is,

crazy as it goes.

 

 

Partner

Timeless harmony

Cause when I’m with him, I’m surrounded by symphonies. When he talks to me, I’m just hearing melodies. And every time his sitting next to me is a sweet violin in my ear. Time starts to run faster, as if he wanted me to let go. I know time is just jealous of me winning the race. I have known people who creates symphony, people who makes music an endless harmony. But since I know him I’ve never need any other sound than his laughter echoing in my mind.

A careless symphony every time he whispers in my ear. A perfect violin talking to me. The drums when he laughs, a trumpet when he cries and a piano when he’s singing. Without any hurry. I just see jealousy in time’s sight because he know he can’t end my constant thoughts, the times I can see his smile in my dreams or the times I play that track in my mind. I know time just wants me to let go but he know I won’t. Because I don’t need any other sound than his voice echoing in my mind. Nor the piano, nor the drums, nor the sweetest guitar on Earth. There’s not an instrument which compares.

All the orchestra playing in his gaze.

Creating  a perfect, maybe careless, timeless harmony.

 

Symphony

A blackout

There, in the middle of the blackout, standing in the lonely and foggy pastures behind the mysterious shack, he could see the skyline. The dark skyline he wasn’t able to understand.

He could see ships, roses and planes. He could see lighthouses working as sentinels and low waves containing high-rise buildings.

The vultures transforming into doves. The fog into a mixture of honey and coffee and darkness into bright headlights.

Stars appeared in a blue sky and the sun lighted up a dark night. The dark skyline transformed in a light pond and mountains arose.

He could see deer standing in front of the headlights and flickering lamps. Crickets turned into violins and thunderheads into thunderstruck.

Fireflies stormed in, creating endless harmony and wild cries transformed into bird trills.

Once again he could smell flower fields and hear children’s joyful laughter.

A blackout stalking his mind in the middle of the foggy night. He returned to his awful thoughts, making happiness seem suffering. Fog in his memories, blurring his mind. He opened them again just to realize the gray environment he was in. One day, dark the night, dark the shack, dark the fire, dark the vultures surrounding the skies. The coldness of the night made him shiver and his fear return. He could still see the smoke downtown and hear the explosions.

A blackout again. He shut his eyes closed and returned to his hideout: right there, in his foggy and lonely pastures. All he did was record again the moments without that thundering, foggy and destructive shadow that people dare to call war.

 

Foggy

Tregua

Imagen 1El día en el que la vida del chico que saca a pasear al terrier cambió, yo recuerdo que el ascensor se detuvo en el séptimo piso y me saludó con una sonrisa. Sostuve el ascensor y esperé a que entrara. El día en que su vida dio un giro inesperado fue en el que bajamos juntos hasta el primer piso y no separamos a la hora de salir del edificio. El día más importante en su vida comenzaba a lloviznar, recuerdo que saqué la sombrilla del bolso. Nos sonreímos a la entrada del conjunto mientras él se ponía la capota de su chaqueta, el cielo era azorado por enormes nubes grises.

Se levantó de su cama y fue al baño a lavarse los dientes, acto seguido fue a la cocina y preparó algo de desayunar, se sentó a comer y leyó el periódico. Se vistió informalmente y salió a pasear a su perro: su chaqueta era negra, su pantalón también, sus zapatos de igual color. El día en que la vida de ese chico que pasea al terrier cambió tenía planeado ir a la escuela después de su caminata diaria junto al perro. El sol salió, la lluvia se acercaba, el terrier salió a correr, sus patas salpicando en los charcos.

Normalmente cruzaba la calle cuando me veía venir del otro lado. Sin embargo, ese día no lo hizo. Nos cruzamos en la acera, su mirada iba gacha, tratando de no encontrarse con la mía. Alcancé a detallar las pecas en su tez pálida. Ese día fue el último que lo vi pasar. Recuerdo bien que él día en que todo cambió el terrier se soltó de la correa, el chico detrás de él. Un error de la naturaleza, un giro que al destino se le escapó de las manos. El día en que todo cambió no pude contener mi grito, aún sin saber su nombre, asustada observando la velocidad de los hechos.

El día en que la vida del chico que sacaba a pasear al terrier todos los días cambió, recuerdo que venía un camión de basura del otro lado de la calle. La correa cedió, mi grito se liberó y no pude moverme de mi lugar en la acera. Mi protagonismo en la escena era poco. El día en que su vida cambió yo estaba ahí, lo recuerdo bien, el terrier salió corriendo pero él no pudo correr más. Ese día le sostuve el ascensor para que saliera a tiempo a sacar a su perro, nos sonreímos antes de salir al edificio y a esa misma hora pasaba un camión de basura del otro lado. El tiempo se detuvo. Los dos nos despertamos ese día y fuimos al baño a lavarnos los dientes. Desayunamos y nos vestimos informalmente. Ese día el ascensor paró en el séptimo piso, lo retuve, él entró con su perro y bajamos al primer piso. La correa se soltó y yo me percaté del camión pero él no me escuchó a tiempo. Algo que el destino olvidó: una tregua planeada para dos.

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.