Swings

Swings, under the edge of night.

Starting to go high.

Carrying those girls to the sky,

up and down and from left to right.

 

The wind hits their cheeks,

and printed on her face a big smile.

One of them jumps,

the other one laughs.

 

Remember when the swings carried you to the sky.

When the wind blew your hair,

while you smiled, pleased.

Showing those dimples on your cheeks.

 

Don’t forget when you use to throw your head back and let your hair touch the floor,

when your friends pushed you forward.

Because I won’t forget, after that big jump,

the ghostly movement of a swing.

Columpios

Taken from: url

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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

For all those who are not here

For all those who are not here we sing to the mountains. For all those no one will forget and will keep living in our minds. For all those who are not here we pray to the sky, for them to have a good trip and be forever free. Those who are now so confusing that we can’t see them between the crowd or flying with the birds, those who have gone because they had to. For all of them is that we write stories and we sing songs, for all those who are right now watching us from above.

Death is a pillage, always stalking. We can find it just around the corner, with or without any intention. No matter what we do, she will be waiting for us but until the day we stop living, we will be singing to the mountains and praying to the sky for the ones that have gained a place in our hearts. For all those who we love and are not here.

 

 

Pillage