Thursday, October 09, 2014

Everything I wanted

Nothing ever matters. In the end, all the words we say, all the tears we shed, all the promises we make, they all fall and break into a million pieces. We don't get to find the source of all this pain or the cause of all this hurting. We are left broken, without all those things we gave.
Hurting, feeling like dying is ok. There is no grace or glamour in crying like a child. It makes no difference where the tears come from. We are all, at the end of it all, nothing but a carbon copy of everyone else. We are no different from anyone else that has been broken.
We might have felt special, untouchable. We might have lived different stories. In the end, it does not make a difference, not one bit. We deceive ourselves and others by making up this people we want to be. We are desperately trying to become an exception to every rule ever written about love.We never are. 
The first time I saw you, I felt an instant pull towards you. I felt the need to be around you. I had to breathe the same air, your scent, drink in your eyes. I had to be with you. I had never wanted something so bad, so desperately. We were drawn to each other. We are messed up and two narcissistic assholes. We had this connexion, this way of communicating no one else understood. I loved feeling this special. I lived to be that untouchable, ethereal being you cherished so much. You made me feel safe and in control. I thought we were one of a kind. I truly believed this bond could never be broken. No matter how many people crossed our paths, we kept coming back.
I thought I was so different. I was living this messed up, impossible relationship and loved it. I have never felt normal, I have always dreaded the ordinary. You gave me that.
You never gave me flowers, you gave me irreplaceable moments. You never wrote a poem about me, you wrote endless letters that showed your true colors. You never called me your girlfriend, you called me your soulmate and best friend. You never proclaimed your love, you gave it to me, complete behind closed doors. You never gave me ordinary, you gave me everything I wanted. 

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

La hora de la cena

Se ha pasado la hora de la cena. Se ha pasado el tiempo que siempre le había dedicado. En un inicio, siempre estaba ahí para platicarle sobre su día. Desesperada, no entiende que pasa. ¿Amé demasiado? ¿Amé muy poco? A veces quisiera poder decirle la verdad. Sentarme con ella a tomar el té y decirle por qué. Me gustaría mirarla a los ojos y contarle, con el corazón en la mano, por qué no llega a la hora de la cena. Nunca he sido de las personas que habla claramente. Nunca he dicho realmente que siento. Ella si. Ella le dice cuanto lo ama, cuanto lo extraña y cuanto está dispuesta a dejar por él. Ella dejó todo atrás. Dejó su independencia, sus tacones, sus días de fiesta. También se deshizo de todas esas cosas que a él no le gustan y se llenó de lo que él adora. Encontró espacio para guardar todos esas cosas que una vez amó y cerró las gavetas. No miró atrás. Lo amaba. Lo ama. Él intentó hacer la mitad de lo que ella hizo por él. De verdad, lo vi intentar una y otra vez no desear que ella fuera diferente. Quería amarla por quien era y como era. Por un momento, breve, lo logró. Esos días, siempre llegaba a la hora de la cena.  La gente cambia. El instinto más escondido siempre regresa. Las cosas que nunca dejas salir son las que terminan rompiendo esa persona que construyes para el resto del mundo. Si tan sólo pudiera decirle que, de verdad, intentó no amarme. No hubo manera de no encontrarnos. Algo debía pasar. Disfrazados, comenzamos a jugar. No pasa nada cuando no dices nada. Cuando no hay quien si quiera susurre un nombre, esa persona no existe. Así jugamos, a no decir, a no verbalizar lo que pasaba y a no recordar nada. Hasta que un día, a la hora de la cena, decidío decir lo que pasaba. Me lo dijo y de pronto, me di cuenta de lo que hacía. Me di cuenta que jamás cambiaría para ser esa mujer que él esperaba. ¿Por qué no lo amaba como ella? ¿Por qué me le había metido hasta los huesos? ¿Por qué no lo necesitaba? Me pidió que lo amara. Me pidió que dejara caer las barreras que he construido y le enseñara realmente quien soy. Mañana, estará con ella, a la hora de la cena.

A bad day

Most of the time, I can live normally. Every day, I think less and less about you. Somedays, the good days, I don't have a single thought regarding you. Those days, I actually think I can love again. Those goods days make me say yes to dates and talk to people. I even let them tell me things I only let myself hear from you. These good days are becoming more and more common. I'm starting to have more good days than bad ones. 
Today was not a good day. Today, I thought of how much I miss your lips. I remembered you how my heart trembled with just the sight of you. Oh, no, it was not a good day. I kept hearing your voice. I kept feeling your hands on me. I kept feeling my skin crawl because of your absence. 
Then you came. Like you always do. You made me remember why I can't think of being with someone else. You made me realize why I am so confused, so broken. 
I thought I was letting you go. I even made a statement out of it. I had this thing confusing me, and I thought I was finally getting rid of you and feeling for someone else. 
Then you looked at me. It is like you never left. I continue to ignore what keeps me from getting back to you. Just this moment. Please don't take that away from me. 
My ego was bruised and you came back to fix it. You made sure no else had that kind of power over me. You just make it better by making it worse. You heal me to leave me, once again, in the highest tower. Today, it's ok for me to have a bad day. Today, I need to remember you by and think of you. Because you did hurt me. You made me remember what it feels to be hurt, not bruised. You bring back all this darkness and loneliness. You make me realize I can't cry for someone else because you used up all the tears I had. 
I have been hurt by you. Nobody else can touch me. Nobody else can make me tremble with anger, despair, and love. I thought I was getting rid of you. I guess today its OK to hold on just a little stronger. 

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Feeling unwanted and crazy is just not pretty. I've been that kind of girl too many times. These thoughts, this darknes after you said you never meant to hurt me, have rushed back in. I've been trying to let go of that hurt I went through after you said goodbye. That pain after you came back and made me think I was imagining things. It all came back. 
I did it again. I was the crazy one again. I was the one that thought was important for someone who just was not as invested. I hate myself when I become that person. I am not used to it. You had taught me well. You had made me this impenetrable bitch that no one could ever touch. 
I let my guard down because I thought I had all those things I had with you. I had even more. I had some more things that made me think I was important or wanted. 
I am still that nice girl no one wants to hurt. I am still this pathetic toy no one ever wanted to break but played incesantly with. I hate that girl. I hate being the nice little girl people find smart and funny. It sucks to be the one they feel bad after hurting. I hate people trying to make it all right afterwards. I hate being pittied. I hate being thought as fragile. I've been through so much crap they have no idea. They still think I need protection.. 
I do not work well as a victim. It makes all my darkeness take over. All these twisted thoughts come flooding back in. I am too special, I am too nice, I am not what you wanted, what he wants. Why can't you just man up and say it? Why do you have to feel like a good person after you've used someone? Be a fucking man about it an accept it. "I thought this was just us playing", "I thought you just wanted sex", "I am not interested, thank you". Be the fucking jerk you are and get it over with. Step down from your high horse, I do not need saving. 
I don't do well as a victim. I don't do well as a poor little girl who needs protection because she's too emotional. I don't want it. I don't need it. I hope people would just stop trying to not hurt me. Pretending to care, when you actually don't, is far more hurtful. I do not need protecting. I don't want it. Go pitty some other girl who actually wants to be protected. 

Thursday, September 11, 2014


You drive me crazy. You have all this potential. You apparently have no idea you are totally the kind of man I could fall in love with. This, drives me mad crazy. I wish I could be this open book. I wish I had no fears and no darkness. I have even thought that you don't like me because of that. I think it is mainly because of this craziness you don't seem to stop talking to me. 
I'd like to think I have a strange power that just draws you to me. I think you are just amused by me. I am weird and funny and you are bored. However, I see the darkness too. I see you are not quite as composed as you portray yourself to be. I like that. 
I have this crazy idea where I truly believe our demons could play very well together. They could play in a way people warn us demons should not play. But I like that. I honestly do like the possibility of burning. I have never wanted a dull life. You have all this potential, and still you'll never know. You will never use it because, maybe, you need more or want something different. I could understand that too. 
Maybe is this darkness and potential in me that keeps you out. Maybe you are evolved and don't need that kind of darkness anymore. Maybe we should have met when you weren't trying to be normal. I don't know. Maybe you are far more concient of this possibility you know better. Who knows. I will never know. 

Thursday, August 28, 2014

I want to be rid of you

I am not sure if I have ever been in love. The only thing I am sure of is that I have fallen. I have fallen countless times for countless people. 
In the corners of my mind, you will find infinite memories. They all blend together and become nothing. They all become part of my imagination and turn into epic love stories. The truth is, they aren't. 
I have fallen for smart and idiotic men. I have fallen for ugly and beautiful men. I have fallen for funny and serious men. I have collected pieces of different puzzles which I force to fit my own. I have also fallen countless times for you. 
I have found you in green, hazel and blue eyes. I have found you in sarcastic, vain and intelligent comments. I have been able to read your name in every book, essay and article. I see you everywhere. I find you in the most random and planned places. I can't seem to get rid of you. I want to be rid of you. 
I have fallen so many times with the hope I will finally take away this power you have over me. I know I am not in love with you, but I love you. I know you are not in love with me either, but you love me.
All this time without you has taught me I am stuck with you. I want to stop being in your life. I want you to stop thinking about my future and tearing apart every resemblance of a relationship I might have. I need to stop believing you will come back. 
I am rationally convinced this is over. Emotionally, well that is a different story. Emotionally, I am still dependent of you. I still need you to find me attractive to feel pretty. I still need you to validate my intelligence to feel worthy. I do, I still need you to say I am a good person to feel like one. I've heard I am beautiful, smart and good. The words just resonate outside my heart. Your voice has the power to travel, tear down all my walls and, like an arrow, end up in the center of my heart. You gave me confidence. You gave me power. You took it all away. 
I just need you to see me one last time, like you used to. I need to feel the warmth a devoted gaze brings. I need you to hold my hand for the last time. This time I will keep that warmth in my heart, now frozen and uninterested. This time I will cherish the electric impulse traveling through my body when your skin touches mine. This time I will finally believe I am beautiful. I will finally let myself feel and let all this love come into my heart. This time, I promise, I will say I love you back. 

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Almost there

This too, shall pass. I've been repeating myself I will not die of this hurting. I keep telling myself I will not be broken. I can't. I've come too far to let this break me. I breathe in, I take control of what was taken away from me. 
It's been so long, I can hardly remember how it feels to not be damaged. I've always kept my cool. I've always made it seem I was dark and twisted inside just because that was who I am. I've never given any explanation. Nobody asked. 
When someone takes away your identity and your worldview, there is no turning back. There is absolutely no way you can ever be that trusting little girl. There is absolutely no hope. You can never love unconditionally because you always expect to be used. You can never ever be truthful because you know you will be deceived. 
I have never fully trusted. I have never fully loved. I have never been completely honest. Nobody asked why. I am damaged goods. I am broken. I have this fog around me that keeps people from actually seeing me. I keep all, miles away. I keep everyone out of reach. 
I made up all kinds of legends about me. I have orchestrated the perfect lie. She is not interested in love. She will eat you up and spit you out without any regret. Behind these walls, there is a scared six year old screaming her heart out, begging not to be hurt. This little girl has been hurt too much, too often and too deeply. 
I've tried to stop this hurting. I've tried a million times to fix me. I've failed miserably every single time. I am so used to my darkness I can't find the light. Being in the dark almost your whole life makes it very difficult for you to want the light. If you have never felt the sun, you hardly miss it. 
I've built sick relationships that prove, once and again, I am not worthy of love. I keep hurting and being used. That is the only way I know. I´ve been their obsession, their desire, never the love of someone's life. I have never been taken care of. 
I want, for once, to be loved. I want to be the fragile little girl someone cherishes. I don't want to be the temptation they all fall into. I want to stop being someone's obsession. I want to stop the things I make them feel. 
I sometimes wonder if just the mere sight of me awakens the most basic, primal and destructive instincts. I think I do. Men keep obsessing over me, sick, twisted kind of love. I have always been this thing they want to posses, not love. 
I have been used for so long, I don't know how it feels to be protected. This little girl had to fight since I can remember. This fragile little girl had to find it in her to be smarter, manipulative and destructive. I've been playing this part for so long, these walls just won't fall down. 
My heart has never felt the warmth of loving. It is frozen, left all alone in the highest mountain. The more I try to make it better the harsher it becomes, the heavier it gets. I am drowning in quick sand. I am hopelessly fighting something that defeated me a long time ago. 
I can't let it show. I am too close. I am a breath away from accepting I am not meant for love. 

Wednesday, August 13, 2014


No recuerdo la última vez que vivimos en la misma ciudad. Tenemos tanto tiempo regados en diferentes partes del mundo, que de verdad, no logro ubicar el momento exacto en que no era así. La gente crece y la distancia suele romper casi todo. El futuro, las nuevas personas, las nuevas costumbres, pueden llegar a alejarnos aún más que esos kilómetros que separan la puerta de mi casa de la suya. 
Somos cinco personas que tuvieron la fortuna de encontrarse. Somos tan iguales pero a la vez tan opuestos que casi pudimos no habernos querido tanto. Porque esta manera de querer es de las que toda la vida te van a durar. No importa que tanto nos cambie el acento, el idioma o las parejas, cada uno siempre tendrá 4 personas dispuestas a casi todo por ellos. Somos afortunados. Aún más yo. 
Seré la última. Como en casi todas las cosas, porque a mi siempre me ha llevado más tiempo que al resto de la gente vivir. No importa. Es ahora cuando entiendo todas esas cosas de dejar a la gente que quieres en un lugar que quieres. Empiezo a pensar que debí de tener más tiempo y menos trabajo. Empiezo a pensar que debí de haber tenido menos conocidos y más tiempo con mi gente. 
No lo digo lo suficiente y cuando lo hago, es muy bajito. Los quiero. Los quiero porque han soportado mis neurosis, mis ataques, mis altas y mis bajas. Porque me hacen reír y llorar. Me conocen, muchas veces, más que yo. Me cuentan en su vida como activo fijo aunque soy la más irregular de las personas. 
Hemos crecido. Nos ha pasado la vida y seguimos aquí. Seguimos hablando de las cosas que nos pasan. Cambian los contextos pero seguimos siendo "Sergio y ellos". Tenemos un pequeño espacio que se quedó detenido en el tiempo. Un espacio que no es frecuente, no como debería, pero igual siempre está ahí. Tenemos un lugar seguro donde regresar. Hemos desafiado al tiempo y al espacio. Porque no importa lo lejos, ni el tiempo, siempre estamos juntos. 
Hoy quiero ir por una copa glamour, ir al cineforo, pasear por el centro, tomar café en el sanborns y whisky en lugares de mala muerte. Tengo unas ganas enormes de ir por un café del seven, tomar fotos, ir a clases y ver series en pijama. Quiero hablar de chisme farandulero y de las cosas raras que pasan por mi cabeza con alguien que sepa exactamente a lo que me refiero. Quiero que me regañen por adicta al trabajo, me lleven a tomar mezcal y me digan que me deje de engañar. Hoy voy a hacer todo porque siempre están y no hay nada que lo pueda evitar. 

Monday, August 04, 2014

Me hubiera gustado...

No tengo una razón. No tengo ganas de econtrarme con esa persona que puedes destruir. No tengo ni la más mínima intención de volverme vulnerable ante ti. El dolor no es algo que me interese. Encontrarme emocionalmente desnuda nunca ha sido mi mejor traje. La vulnerabilidad nunca me ha sentado bien. Jamás seré esa mujer que te va a entregar el alma. No hay ya que entregar. La realidad de las cosas es que tengo demasiada alma para la vida y muy poca me queda para el amor. No me queda ya nada para ti porque llegaste tarde. 
Me hubiera gustado conocerte cuando todavía podía decir la verdad. Antes no era tan cínica. Hace mucho tiempo que dejé de pensar en cuidar a alguien más. No he podido deshacerme de este miedo. No he logrado quitarme de encima toda la culpa de haber sido quien fui. 
Probablemente, hubieras podido enamorarte de mi. Antes, no estaba tan rota. Dejé perdida la llave que me hace vulnerable, que me abre al mundo. A esa mujer, creo, si la pudiste haber amado. 
La mujer que está frente a tí el día de hoy, no es nada comparado con la niña que ahogué entre tantas mentiras. Esa niña se murió entre el dolor y las ganas de amar a alguien más. Ella era transparente, simpática. Ella no tenía agendas escondidas ni mecanismos de manipulación. Ella te hubiera caido muy bien. 
Ahora, entre todas esas agendas escondidas, perdí a esa niña. Me hubiera gustado que la conocieras. Ella si sonreía sincera. Ella no era pasivo-agresiva. Ella si podría haberte amado. 
Yo ya no puedo amar porque me rompí conscientemente. Asesiné a esa niña que puede amar porque no pude soportar el dolor de amar sin ser correspondida. 
Prefiero estar sentada aquí, hablando contigo. Prefiero decirte, en este momento, que me dejes ir y lo dejes de intentar. Me duele no ser todavía esa niña. Ella, te hubiera dejado entrar hace mucho tiempo. Ella te hubiera enseñado todas esas cosas que la gente hace por quien ama. Yo no. Yo no puedo ser esa niña. No me encuentro en posición de amar a nadie más. Se me acabó el amor por él y junto con el se escapó todo lo que podía sentir por alguien más, aún por mi. Me dejé de amar. Dejé de tener la capacidad de sentir. Porque ya no siento. No siento el frío ni las ganas de llorar cuando no te aman. No siento el calor y las ganas de sonreír cuando de verdad te quieren. No queda nada. 
Estoy hecha ruinas y no hay manera de reconstruirme. No hay manera porque me aseguré que todo eso que tenía se fuera con él. Se lo regalé. Le dí todo y no me dejó nada. Yo se lo pedí. Porque si no lo podía amar a él no quería amar a nadie más. 
En mi terquedad, en mis ganas de tener la razón, apagué en mi alma la poca luz que quedaba. Porque no hay manera de que yo pueda amar, si no es a él. Porque tengo que saber lo que se siente no amar después de romper tantas casas. Porque siento, muy en el fondo, que no merezco encontrar el amor porque lastimé demasiado. Me castigo porque no me creo merecedora de nada porque me la he pasado rompiendo demasiadas cosas. 
No puedo amar. No puedo encontrarme en el punto vulnerable en el que alguien sepa quien soy realmente. Porque me muero de miedo que vean eso que el vio y salgan corriendo. 
Me hubiera gustado encontrarte menos rota. Me hubiera gustado no haber sido tan soberbia y tan destructiva antes de ti. Me hubiera gustado que me hubieras conocido. 

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Si regresas

A veces, me gustaría ser esa mujer que puedes querer. No me importa que no sea como en las películas. Solamente que me quisieras, así, un poquito como en la vida real. Muy de repente, me entran las ganas de decirte que no es cierto que no voy a cambiar por ti. 
Cuando estoy sola, cuando te extraño, se me ocurren todas las maneras en las que puedo cambiar y dejar de ser todo eso que no quieres. Me dan ganas de salirte a buscar y decirte que siempre si quiero que me quieras. 
A veces, no siempre, me atormento pensando en todo lo que dije y pude haber callado. Todas esas promesas a mi dignidad las rompo si decides regresar. En ese instante preciso, te prometo ser la más sumisa, la más callada, la más abnegada. Te juro dejar de llorar, decir lo que pienso y sentir todo al mismo tiempo. 
De pronto, sin darme cuenta, te hablo. No para decirte que regreses, porque en ese momento, no me acuerdo que me dejaste. Te hablo para contarte lo que acabo de ver en las noticias o esa idea sin sentido que acaba de cruzar por mi mente. En ese segundo, no tengo orgullo, no hay lágrimas, no te has ido.
Regresame la calma, las fuerzas, las ganas. Quítame estas ganas de llorar, el insomnio y mi cinismo. Porque ya no quiero ser una niña buena si no estás tú para corromperla. Ahora quiero ser esa mujer que le dan un anillo y entrega su vida. Te quiero entregar mi vida porque, en realidad, ya te pertenece. Quiero ser políticamente correcta y perfecta. No quiero ya escribir si no puedo teclear tu nombre en cada letra. 
Lo dejo todo. Lo dejo a él también. 
Te prometo ahora sí, decirte a tí todo eso que pienso. Te prometo que no vuelvo a decirle a alguien más mis más oscuros secretos. Te juro, si regresas, no vuelvo a pensar que alguien más me querrá. Te prometo no contestarle, no hablar con él. Si regresas, dejo a este sustituto de tí que me queda grande y me duele más que tú. 

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

The problem with you

The problem with you is you are too perfect. You are everything my mother told me a man should be. You are too damn perfect. You make me feel awkward and out of place. You keep telling me you find all my awkwardness appealing. I keep repeating myself you will wake up one day wanting a perfect wife. 
The problem with this is my darkness fades when you are around. You have and will never understand the twisted paths within my mind. You are too damn perfect. 
You are that kind of man all women want to marry. You have everything planned, everything on track. I am everything but planned or on track. You make us being together a constant reminder I am everything but the good girl you are supposed to marry. 
It hurts, because I see the way you look at me. It breaks my heart because I have learned to love perfect. I have become this person who is not afraid of good things. Still, in the back of my mind, in the morning, while you are just there, observing me, I hear this voice. This person I really am just tells me you won't love my darkness. 
I really want you to love my darkness. I want you to not be afraid of all the crazy things that go on in my head. I want to be sure you won't run out the door the moment I let one of my demons out. You are too perfect. You have kept all the voices in my head quiet. You have kept my fears, my pain and self loathing in line. I am no longer in this need to make someone hurt. I want to make you happy. 
The problem with you is you are perfect. You are well adjusted and sure. I am awkward and doubtful. You  are handsome an well dressed. I am weird and unfashionable . You are well behaved and controlled. I am unstable and random. 
The thing with you is I kind of love my darkness. The thing with you is you've taken that away from me. I am scared. I am just waiting for my monster to wake up and make a mess. I am just waiting for you to realize you are too good for me. I am terrified you will leave me and my demons will just take over for good. 

Monday, July 14, 2014

Beautiful Pain

Beautiful pain. Beautiful hurting. I love the way it feels. Nothing is so profound, so deep, so personal. The pain you give me is the most amazing gift someone could ever receive. It is this pain that lets me know I am alive. I realize, because of this hurting, I love you. I could never love so intensely. I could never hope to burst into flames ever again. You make me feel hell on earth. You make me fall from the highest tower and break every single bone in my body. You brand every inch of my body with your touch. 
I don't want this pain to go away. I don't want to stop this absolute bliss. The hurting gives me pleasure. The absolute misery that comes from feeling every inch of your skin crawl and burn because of someone else is just amazing. 
Don't heal me. Please, do not let me feel happiness or stop the bleeding. I want to feel every drop of my blood drain out of my body. I want to feel every bit of pain you have given me. I do not want you to stop. Please, I beg you, hurt me deeper. Don't let any part of me untouched. I am yours, completely. I am your toy to pick up whenever you feel like it. 
Don't love me. Please, hate me, hurt me and make me feel alive. I do not want your tenderness or kindness. I want you to burn with desire, self destruct and break me every time you think o me. I want to be broken. Please, do not mend me. I love the feeling of not having anything to hold on to. This beautiful feeling of falling without a net. The beautiful thrill of falling. Please do not take that away from me. 
I do not need you to stay. I do not need you to heal me once I break. I love myself dysfunctional. I love myself hurt and broken. I do not need my wholeness. I do not want my sanity. I do not need warm and fuzzy. I want to burn with just the thought of you. 

Thursday, July 10, 2014


Despacio. Entre todo el ruido, en la oscuridad de la noche, no eres tú. Este personaje proveniente de tu imaginación llega para quitarte todo el miedo de aceptar tu vulnerabilidad. Whisky y cigarro. No necesitas más porque eres esa versión de tí que no siente. El silencio entre tanto ruido deja por fin callados a todos tus demonios. El movimiento, la gente, la superficialidad de todo, te da un aire de seguridad. 
Te gusta jugar a la niña tonta. En tí ya no hay ese miedo a ser lastimada porque no hay manera que ese idiota te pueda tocar. Juegas tus cartas, juegas con su mente y le haces creer que eres todo eso que las niñas normales deben de ser.
Juegas a ser sumisa, a no tener opiniones, a dejarte seducir. Entregas el control en sus ojos cuando en realidad eres tu la que jala cada uno de los hilos en este teatro. Te disfrazas de lo común. Guardas el secreto como si tu vida dependiera de ello. No dices una sola verdad. Todo lo escondes. Te gusta saber que nadie te puede tocar. 
Verlos intentar te llena de paz. Lo común y corriente de cada uno de esos hombres te da una paz que jamás habías sentido. Porque no hay discusiones. No hay manera de que tus demonios sean retados a salir. No hay forma que esta paz te abandone. Un whisky más. Eres de esas personas que pueden controlar todo lo que dicen entre el descontrol de la ebriedad. Cada palabra está llena de intenciones ocultas. Cada frase esconde un fin último de asegurarle que no existe mujer más común que tú. 
Lo mundano siempre te ha atraido. Siempre has querido ser feliz. Has buscado entre todos los recovecos de tu alma, la paz que te da el no tener que pensar. Apagar todo lo que sientes y piensas te produce un sosiego que nunca quieres dejar. 
Quieres ser ordinaria para sentirte satisfecha con las cosas de todos los días. Te mueres por ser común para dejarte engañar mil veces y vivir eternamente en la quietud de la ignorancia. No quieres leer más, vivir más, entender más. Quieres que todas esas voces en tu cabeza dejen de gritar todo eso que tienes miedo a enfrentar. 
Hoy, no tienes tiempo de dejarte sentir algo. No tienes la fuerza de abrir tu alma a alguien que te pueda romper. Porque estás reconstruyendo todo eso que tu misma destruiste. Te volviste un rompecabeza de emociones y personas. No tienes la menor idea de como empezar. Decides callar esos gritos de dolor que provienen desde lo más profundo de tí. Prefieres hacer como que todo eso que te está destruyendo nunca existió. 
Te fumas un cigarro mientras ves como todas y cada una de las preguntas de tu vida desaparecen entre el humo. No hay tiempo, espacio ni ganas de pensar en ese fantasma que a veces, ya entrada la noche, aparece. Hace mucho que no lloras por él. Hace mucho que dejaste de sentir que nunca más encontrarías una conexión igual de fuerte. 
Tu obsesión siempre fue más grande que el amor. Construir tu vida en letras y convertirlo en el arquitecto de esa obra de arte te dejó sin fuerzas. Tienes sólo las ganas de volverte común. No quieres otra vez encontrar esas ganas de romper algo. Te rehusas a visitar esa parte de tu historia que te hace la persona más cruel, enferma y honesta. No tienes interés ahora por la sinceridad o el éxtasis. 
Te llenas de las poquitas fuerzas que te quedan y sales al mundo en toda tu ordinariedad. En el fondo, no quieres volver a ser esa persona que es capaz de herir por placer y destruirse sistematicamente. Quieres ser feliz y encontrarte en ese abismo adormecedor que logra hacerte una buena mujer. 

Friday, June 27, 2014

You are my drug of choice

You are my drug of choice. I had been sober for too long. I had forgotten the high, the thrill, the absolute bliss you give me. My demons had been silent for such a long time, they had forgotten how to come out. My darkness just blends perfectly with yours. We are one of a kind, you and me. We are this absolutely intoxicating chemical reaction that just implodes, every time. 
I had been able to keep the cravings in line. I had been having my daily placebo and made myself believe I was no longer in withdrawal. As soon as I saw you, I had this itch. It came from my darkest place. It missed you. It longed for you. It needed to be heard, played with. 
I tried to fight it. I tried to deny it. I had been sober for so long. I had been such a good girl for so long. I fought. I had reason by my side. We are no good for each other. We are no good for anyone around us. I am no good for you. You are certainly no good for me. We just burst into flames every single time. We alienate everyone. We are no good for anyone. 
The worst thing someone can ever do is stand in the sidelines of this mess. We are not only willing to destroy ourselves but we go with a bang. It never lasts long. We are unable to keep this stable. That's the beauty and horror of it. We just are not able to keep it normal.
I've always had two sides of me. This one part of me only comes out when you call it. You make me feel so free. With you, I do not have the urge to think about who I am or pretend to be. With you, tomorrow is never a question. We never have tomorrow. All these years, we've only had today. You come out of the shadows just to tempt me, make me the bad behaved girl you know I can be. You bring out my demons, untamed. You let them run wild and free. You do not give me the feeling of not being good enough. You make me feel like the most exquisite and special thing that has ever walked this earth. You take away the shame from all my demons. You take away the guilt, the hurt and the desperation. You make me reckless, selfish and completely and utterly happy. You make me smile like an idiot, fuck like a nymphomaniac, laugh like a child, write like an erudite and live like a daredevil. 
Your are my drug of choice. I had been sober for so long. I had forgotten the complete desolation you leave behind. I didn't remember the pain and messes my demons bring when untamed. I had forgotten how hopeless and alone you leave me, every time. I had forgotten the guilt, the rock bottom. The road down your high is absolutely devastating. They way back home is lonely and dark. I have to keep my demons in line, my darkness hidden and mend my heart. 
With you, I become this person who hurts everybody. I don't care, I don't mind. I just need your fire. That is all I crave, want or need. I burn all the bridges, I stop feeling. The numbness, the absolute silence in my head is just heaven.

Just one last high. 

Thursday, June 26, 2014


Are we truly faithful? Are we really meant to find absolute devotion in someone else? Are we willing to give that back?

Eyes wonder. Hearts unsettle. Just one little thing can change everything. A butterfly flaps its wings. It's a hurricane in someone else's life. We just meant to be nice. You just meant to be warm with the girl your friend brought over. I just meant to be the polite new girl. It was just beyond our control. We are both commited. What harm could come out of this?

Love sometimes just lets pure lust escape. When you love you need to take care of so many things, and then you kind of lose some others. We are so invested in taking care of so many things required in a relationship we forget we are human. We tend forget we have instincts and that taming ourselves is not just an act of pure love. 

Faithfulness is just a spectrum. It's a pallet of colors and we choose where we stand. We do not need to touch to cheat. We don't even need to get close to cheat. Who decides that? Sometimes, it takes a look, just one word. We change everything inside us and we just start fearing we might be unfaithful. 

It doesn't even matter how loyal we are as a person. We can be the must trustworthy being you have ever met, and still, a stranger can make you melt inside. Where do we draw the line? Is cheating having a wet dream about someone else? Is cheating having that electric reaction when someone brushes against you by chance? Am I supposed to feel this way? Is it normal?  Am I cheating?

Someone once said, "if it feels like cheating, it probably is". I don't even know how I feel. I just have this loyalty thing. I guess it's just an honesty thing. I need things to be transparent, clear. I have to tell. I have to let you know I have this urge. I have this itch. If I don't say it, am I cheating?

If we talk about it? Is it cheating? If we fantasize about how could it be if we weren't committed? Is it cheating? The thing is, we can still be in love with someone else. Still, we can't stop looking at each other. Still this beat inside of me can't be silenced. 

It stopped for a while. I didn't find any urges outside where my loyalty laid. Then it did. Then I had this itch, this uncontrollable feeling of feeling turned on by somebody else. The urge to feel someone else's hands over my body. I wanted to be explored and tamed by someone else. I wanted to feel his breathe, taste every little part of him. I wanted to see him whole, naked, sweaty. I wanted to abandon myself to pleasure. I wanted to end up naked, exhausted and trembling. I wanted him to fill this urge. 

If I do not cave, is it cheating? If I do not let myself go to every single urge I have, will I be faithful? Even if I dream at night about his lips, his tongue and every inch of his body, am I still being faithful? If I do not let him lick every hidden part of my body, do I get to keep being loyal? Even if dream about it, think about it and even talk about it?

Where do we draw the line?

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

De haber sabido

El último beso debería de ser anunciado. Deberíamos saber que nunca más volveremos a sentir el aliento de esa persona que hace que toda razón deje de tener sentido. Debería de existir una señal que te avise que será la última vez que ese cuerpo estará en sintonía con el propio y ambos tendrán que buscar otras frecuencias. 

De existir este tipo de avisos, guardaría el último beso en el cajón más escondido dentro de mi corazón. Guadaría ese momento en que las respiraciones se convierten en una misma. Me quedaría con el impulso eléctrico que te recorre por completo en el instante justo en que los labios se tocan. Guardaría por siempre tu esencia en una camisa. 

Porque nunca nada es igual. Porque cada relación tiene su propio ritmo, su propia velocidad. Porque nadie besa con la misma intensidad o la misma ternura. Porque guardar esos pequeños momentos nos llenaría la vida en vez de dejarnos vacíos. Si pudiera llenarme de tí para dejarte ir, lo haría. Si una despedida pudiera ser anunciada, lo haría. Porque conmigo ninguna despedida ha sido anunciada. Nunca he dicho adiós y me quedo con el alma vacía sin darme cuenta. 

Si me hubieras avisado que sería la última vez, tus caricias no me dolería. Haría que me recorrieras entera para que pudieras sanar todas las cicatrices que una vez dejaste, todas esas veces que me convertiste en fuego y me quemaste. Me quemaste y dejaste todas esas heridas abiertas. 

Si pudiera, guardaría la última mirada cómplice. Esa que nunca será igual. Porque todos crecemos, cambiamos y los ojos nunca son los mismos. Porque la complicidad nunca es la misma. Porque la frecuencia y las bromas escondidas nunca son iguales. Me perdería por última vez en tus ojos miel y encontraría mi propio reflejo para darme cuenta que lo que amo no es tu mirada sino cómo me ves. Porque verme a través de tus ojos nunca ha sido tan hermoso. Porque me enseñaste a observarme con tus pupilas. Me enseñaste a que soy tan tuya porque así me ves, me veías. 

Me quedé sin dueño. No encuentro esas cosas que me hacen quien soy, de quien te enamoraste. De haber sabido, te hubiera pedido me escribieras mil veces para no olvidarme. Porque me perdí, olvidé todo eso que me hizo lo que alguna vez amaste. 

De haber sabido, me encontraría en tu cuerpo una última vez, para no quedarme tan sola. 

Sunday, June 22, 2014

This person I have become

I've never been yours. I really tried. I really hoped I could love you. The truth is, I never did. I kept making you my perfect excuse. If I suffered you, I couldn't possible suffer for something else. I became a ghost. I became this vision that could never become real. I made myself impossible to touch, to love. I made myself everything you wanted but feared the most. I kept quiet. 
I am nothing but what I made myself. I am not yours. I am not a toy you pick up whenever you are bored. I am not half the things you resolved me to be. You once said you needed me to need you. I did, in my own way. I needed you to keep me from everyone else. You did. You kept making me feel as this unattainable little thing. I became what I wanted you to think of me. You couldn't hurt me that way. You couldn't break me. I closed myself up from everything remotely dangerous. I stopped feeling. I felt too much.
I felt every little thing, making me numb to real feelings. I can't feel you. I stopped feeling you a long time ago. I made you my shield from the world. I made you everything you are not. I made myself believe I could only be happy with you, with that make believe version of you.

I saw you. I had imagined this moment a hundred times. I played over and over, all the possible scenarios in my head. It was no big deal. I saw you, I felt nothing. I didn't tremble when you kissed me. My heart did not skip a beat when you hugged me. I didn't lose my breath when I smelled your scent. I just held you. I just stood there, looked at you and realized you were half the man I built you up to be. I will always care. I will always have a place for you in my heart. This time, I realized it just this part, not my whole heart. I have room for something more, for someone else. I have room in my bed, my heart, my mind. You are not my whole heart anymore. You are not my whole dreams and thoughts.

After all this time I realize I loved you. In my own, messed up way, I did. I made my life this comfortable waiting room. I built up this world that had a space for you. All the time, you could just enter without any trouble. You had your chair. I was there sitting beside you all the time. It worked, in a way. It did, for a while. I had time to do all those things people should do in order to grow. I grew up. I wasn't distracted. For that, in a weird way, I thank you. I had the time to become the person I am today.

The person I am today moved, little by little all the furniture out of the waiting room I had built. Without me noticing, this version of me filled the wholes I left for you. I had left all this void space for you to settle once you had done and tried all the things you needed. I filled those wholes without noticing. This person I have become, was smart enough to let you go. I am sorry I didn't notice. I held you yesterday and then, I realized I had let you go.

Friday, June 06, 2014

Eso quiero

Arder en el más mundano deseo. Eso es lo que quiero. Quiero ser del mundo y vivir algo ordinario. Quiero dejarme desvestir una y otra vez. Quiero dejar de medir mi vida en relación a sus manos. Quiero empezar a contar el tiempo en relación a mi cuerpo. Quiero llenarme una y otra vez de eso que la gente común hace. La estimulación intelectual puede esperar. Mi verdadero yo se puede presentar en otra ocasión. El día que la conozcas, muy probablemente no te interese seguirla frecuentando. 
No soy de esas. No soy de esas mujeres que se abren y pintan todo de color de rosa. Yo no voy a hacer tu vida mejor. Yo no te voy a cuidar ni me voy a convertir en la tregua que buscas. Yo soy la guerra. Yo soy el enemigo y soy todas esas cosas que las niñas buenas no deben ser. 
No soy paciente. No soy condescendiente. Soy egoista. Soy todas esas cosas que hacen a una mujer peligrosa. Soy todo o nada. No te dejaré en paz en la cama. No soy sosiego. No te voy a hacer sentir mejor. No voy a tomar tu mano y dejar que me guíes. No te voy a dejar nunca controlar mi vida, mucho menos mi mente. No me voy a callar, ni siquiera por respeto a los vecinos. Soy todo eso que un hombre no necesita. 
Arder en el más oscuro de los placeres. Eso es lo que quiero. Quiero devorarte y entre las sábanas, despacio, quemarte. Quiero dejarte explorar cada uno de los recovecos de mi cuerpo. Los de mi mente, esos, me los quedo. Puedes conquistar mi cuerpo cuantas veces quieras. Me puedes tocar completa. Mi alma, esa, me la quedo. 
No soy de esas. No te voy a decir que te amo. No te voy a llenar de ternura. No voy a decirte todo eso que las niñas buenas dicen. Te voy a encontrar en medio de la noche y profanaré cada centimetro de tu cuerpo. Tu corazón, ese, quédatelo. 

Friday, May 30, 2014

How to love a girl who writes: don't

I advice you not to fall in love or try to make fall in love a girl who writes. As a self proclaimed member of this particular group, I say: don't. 

A girl who writes will always find any reason to escape reality. She will find a million ways to make what is happening everything but what it really is. She will romanticize and rationalize at the same time. She will find hidden meaning in your actions, put words in your mouth and make you live to insane expectations. 

Another problem with girls who write is they usually read. We are able to find epic battles, meaningful silences and plot twists everywhere. A girl who writes will make you a character in her life and will strip you from your own identity. A girl who writes will never fall in love with you, she will only fall in love with the idea of you. 

A girl who writes is very volatile. She will be up, down, horny, mad, sad, ecstatic and bored all at the same time. She will cry over nothing. She will drown you in her dark thoughts. She will refuse forever to find the light. She will not be happy over meaningless things. She will not settle for ordinary. I tell you, do not fall in love with a girl who writes. It will be the most exhausting experience and it is not worth it. 

Please pay attention. Do not fall in love with a girl like me. A girl like me will find excuses to make you suffer. She will find ways to torture you because normal, puppy love is nothing when you have a deep passion for literature. Run, hide and find yourself a normal girl. Girls who write are not well in the head. We are not well in the heart either. 

Don't ever try to make a girl who writes fall in love. She will write endless tales and predict your every thought. She will try to manipulate you in order to make you fit the character she decided you'd be from day one. She will be analyzing, all the time. She will find any excuse to feel desperate love. She will use you as an instrument. Do not kid yourself thinking she has no hidden agenda. She will fall in love only to find more things to write about. 

The thing about me, a girl who writes, is that I can't compare anything to the passion of writing. Girls who write are pain junkies. We live for the thrill of feeling desperation in order to find our words. We live to become unattainable, unbearable and never loved. Being loved kills our inspiration. We become like everybody else, and that, for a girl who writes its just like dying. 

Thursday, May 29, 2014

La ia

Formo parte de una línea de mujeres sui generis. Soy la primera bisnieta, hija de la primera nieta, hija de la primera hija de una familia matriarcal. Mi madre, mi abuela y mi bisabuela me enseñaron, sin palabras, que las mujeres no necesitan de un hombre. Mi bisabuela me enseñó que nadie puede decirte como vivir tu vida. Mi abuela me enseñó que bastan las ganas y esfuerzo de una mujer para mantener una familia. Mi mamá me enseñó que tus decisiones deben siempre ser tuyas y jamás en relación a nadie más. 
Hace un año, mi bisabuela murió. Mujer de honestidad escandalosa, casada y eternamente enamorada de un hombre completamente opuesto a ella, mi ia es una de las figuras más fuertes que construyeron mi identidad. 
En los primeros años del siglo XX, un buen día decidío quién sería el hombre de su vida. En bicicleta y enfundada en los pantalones de su hermano, paró abrutamente en la reja de la casa del nuevo inquilino de su colonia. Miró fijamente al jóven con guantes y sombrero. Volteó la cara a su mejor amiga y le dijo: "El de bigotito es para mí, el otro es para tí." Nunca dudó que así sería. Así fue. 
Antes de cumplir los 20 años, ella sabía muy bien lo que quería. Quería a mi io. Niño rico venido a menos, ese jóven con modales de película la conquistó y vivió en su corazón hasta el último día de su vida.
Tachada de marimacha, era la única hermana que no sabía bordar, cocinar y mucho menos limpiar.  Usar pantalones y andar en bicicleta no era algo que hacían las jovencitas decentes. Escandalizadas, las mujeres casadas le decían que nunca iba a poder tener hijos por andar haciendo cosas de hombres.
El día que pidieron permiso para casarse, su padre, tajante dijo a mi bisabuelo: "No sabe lavar, ni planchar ni cocinar... y no va a aprender. ¿Así te quieres casar con ella? Porque no se aceptan devoluciones". Lleno de propiedad, como siempre fue, respondío: "Yo quiero una compañera de vida, no una sirvienta."
Decretado así fue que Bertha Soberanes jamás bordara, horneara un pastel o lavara platos. Aún en la vejez, mi ia solía tomarte las manos y decirte: "Ya no laves platos, tienes las manos muy maltratadas". Para ella siempre fue así de sencillo, no lo quieres hacer, no lo hagas. Lo vas hacer, hazlo con toda el alma.
Debieron casarse en secreto. Porque no podía ser normal. Porque en mi familia nada es así.
Mi ia fue una mujer que jamás dejó que le dijeran cómo vivir. No es un secreto que tuvo favoritos y nunca tuvo empacho de reconocerlo. Su sinceridad y capacidad de no dejar que las convenciones sociales la limitaran fue algo que siempre agradeceré.
Hace un año, decidío, porque no hay otra manera de ponerlo, morir cerca del hombre de su vida. No se quiso ir de un lugar que amo profundamente. Cerca del lugar donde descansa su marido, la ía se quedó. Siempre será un referente en mi vida y nunca olvidaré hacer lo que ame, sin importar lo que el mundo opine.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014


I know you will never read this. I am aware you have never read this. I know you have never been that kind of person. I am sure you could never find your way into my writing. You just exist in it. You have never understood or cared enough to be part of this world of mine. Still, I write you. Still, I make sense of all this by typing your name in every single letter. I will never tell, you will never know.
I saw you once again. You are this vision. I didn't see it coming. As always, you find me off guard. You knock at the door when I least expect it. I heard you. I heard your heavy breathing. Your words cut like a knife through my heart.
I felt each and everyone of your words. I love you too. I can't open the door. Please go away. Please just let me find my way. You are intoxicating, obsessive and the best thing that has ever happened to me. I wanted so bad to open the door. I can't. I won't.
I have been without you for so long. I miss your lips, your hands, your voice. I want you to come back. I can't let you in anymore. It is not the way this was supposed to be. Please leave. Don't make this harder. I can't. I'm paralyzed on the other side of the door. I can feel your hands. I can hear your words. I can almost see your tears. This is not the way it was supposed to be.
How did we ended up so broken? When did we decide hurting each other was the way to show we are deeply in love with each other? I can't. I love you. Please go away.
Never have I felt this urge to let myself go. I wanted to switch off my brain. I wanted to stop thinking. I wanted to forget everything and just open the goddamn door. I am frozen. I am incapable of letting anyone in. You got trapped inside. Still, I can't open the door.
Please let me go. Please stop telling me how much you miss me. Please let time heal all these wounds. I beg you. I need to stop hurting this bad. I need to stop bleeding. I have to stop crying in the middle of the night. I have to stop calling your name in dreams and pretending I am OK without you. I need to be fine without you, for real.
In order to heal, I need to stop this. I have to make this game stop. I am not interested in making you feel like dying. I am no longer invested in finding men so opposite, so different. I do not need to find you in their eyes. I don't want to find a better version of you. I am no longer looking for someone like you. I just need you to let me go. Please, I beg you. Let all those memories fade. Forget my lips, my body and all the things I promised. I cannot wait for you anymore. I cannot be that person. I can't anymore. Please, let me go.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

We sometimes forget. I do, I did. I can't remember how it used to be. I try to focus on what's to come so I don't loose myself in all these things, all those words. There are people so organized and then, there's me. I can't concentrate on a conversation, even if I want to. I'm just a dreamer, can't change that. I know sometimes I may be irritating or even exhausting. I just forget. I want to remember everything and yet I only keep little things. I just remember a smell, a color or a sound. I don't know why, but then those little things make me cry. I remember, I do. Sometimes not everything but only what is important. I remember the feeling. I don't know exactly the words or the event, but I remember how it felt. Not everybody does that. I do. Some don't even know the importance of feeling. I do. I just need enough to shred a tear, to laugh or sigh. I do have powerful memories but in my own way.
I remember... I do. Don't get me wrong. I can still feel your skin over mine. I still can smell your scent in the most random places. I still can see your eyes when I start to cry. I still can remember your lips. I can hear your voice when I need someone to make me laugh. I still do. I can't remember what happened. I don't know the actual words, the exact moment. I can't remember the last kiss.
I am used to you remembering what I forget. I am still used to you putting together the pieces in my head. I still have this horrible habit of you making sense of all the nonsense in my head.
You gave me structure, you gave me reason, you gave me all those things I keep forgetting.
I am everything you don't need in a relationship. I not only forget, but I just can't seem to keep myself in reality. I am volatile. I am vulnerable and random.
I know I am not what you need. I know I am what you once wanted. I know you've grown up. I haven't. I refuse to become someone so mundane. I can't become that women you need me to be. I will always be the random girl that made you laugh, got you mad beyond any reasonable explanation, took you from complete bliss to absolute desperation. I am that girl. I am the one who will always remember how you feel but not what you did.

I am not interested in love

I am not interested in love. I do not need to hear you say you love me. I am not looking for someone to give my life meaning. I will not loose my voice. I will not be the good little girl you need me to be. Not anymore. I will not hush my voice. I will not whisper, I will not beg. I am not interested in being your trophy. I will not settle for ordinary.
I want to burn to the ground. I will not loose my passion. I want to hurt like I've never hurt before. I want to feel every breath, every kiss. I want you to burn as well. I want desperate, eager, breathtaking desire. I want to be lifted to unbearable pleasure. I want you to feel like I am fire. I am not interested in your tenderness. I want you to want me. I want to become your darkest dream. I want to feel your skin crawl when you feel my touch. I need you to breathe me in and inhale every last bit of me. I want your eyes to burn with lust when you look at me. I want you to hate me. I want you to bleed my name, exhale my scent.
I want to make your body tremble with my voice. I want to own your desire, become your worst nightmare. 
I do not need you to tell me you love me. Not even in the middle of the night, in between lust and desire. I am not interested in sharing a heart or a future. I need you now, while it's all pitch-black. 
Let me burn in between your touch. Let me turn into fire while we find ourselves a better match.

Friday, May 23, 2014

Pedacitos de mí

Me puse a leer todo lo que he escrito en este lugar. Este espacio en la nada (créanlo o no esto de "la nube" no termina por causarme un poquito de estrés) se ha convertido en mi historia de vida y al mismo tiempo en un montón de palabras que a veces ni yo entiendo.

Me doy cuenta que la verdad nada es para siempre, aunque lo escribas. No puedo creer todo lo que escribí. No dudo que cada letra la sentí, porque asi soy, porque así escribo. No me llega la inspiración porque vi algo o me contaron algo. Yo escribo todas mis vidas alternas y todo lo que siento y pasa en mi cabeza. Todo viene de un lugar, un lugar un poquito escondido y que me he empeñado en domesticar: mi alma. Soy viceral, soy creativa, soy de esas personas que se imaginan todo pasar.

La verdad no se si este post haga mucho sentido una vez que lo termine de escribir. Honestamente leí varios escritos y me sentí como que veía un montón de fotografías hechas pedazos y en ninguna podía ver la cara de quien estaba siendo capturado en ese momento. Supongo que fuiste/fueron importantes. Lo más gracioso de todo es que esa persona que siempre pensé inspiró mis letras, no está. No logro descifrar entre todas esas letras si era él o alguien más quien me llevaba a escribir lo que escribí.

Entonces me di cuenta que en mi vida siempre he hecho las cosas lo contrario de lo que son. He creado montañas de pedacitos de tierra y he creado un gigante de un enano. También me di cuenta, que las cosas importantes las hago pequeñas. Lo que realmente duele, lo he reducido a una o dos palabras. Entonces sólo me queda reirme. Me divierte mi capacidad de imaginar una vida mucho más grande que la que vivo y tristezas mucho más chicas que las que siento. Sonreí al poder al leer todas esas historias que sólo pasaron en mi cabeza. Leer todas esas frases que jamás he dicho o me han dicho o si lo hicieron, ya no me acuerdo.

Entonces, me doy cuenta que no siento nada cuando algo realmente pasa. He sentido cosas más importantes con sólo una mirada, con una caricia, con una frase a medias. Y ahora, que salí al mundo a vivir la única pregunta que me viene a la mente es ¿esto es lo que siempre esperé?

No puedo ni siquiera encontrar un solo escrito que en el que pueda estar 100% segura que es completamente de él. Nada absolutamente nada de mí le pertenece. Ni siquiera mis letras, que en algún momento de mi vida pensé que sólo podían ser para y provenir de él.

Entonces me doy cuenta que todo esto es mio. Cada palabra, cada una de las letras que conforman este espacio me pertenecen. 

Siempre me pensé completamente de él. Ahora, entiendo que siempre fue mio y lo dejé. Esa persona que llegué a crear, es mía también. Por que yo lo he creado y hoy, decido destruirlo.

Monday, May 12, 2014

I like you

I am only going to say this once. I will not repeat what I am thinking. Be damn sure this is the only time you'll hear this from me. I like you. I like you enough to overlook the fact that some things about you make me crazy. Not good crazy, but I want to punch you in the face kind of crazy. 
I am not usually open. I've been building these walls around me for so long I can't even find the way to bring them down. I've never been excited to see or talk to someone. It sort of happens with you. For the most part of my life I had someone. I had someone who taught me, the hard way, that owning your feelings and verbalizing was like loosing. I was in a relationship where being weak meant being in love. I learned to hide my anger, disappointment, hurt and happiness. I was taught it was a sign of weakness. It was a sign of not being in control. 
I am not in love. I don't want to marry you. I'm not even sure if I want to "date" you. I don't know if I have the ability to fall in love. I only know I like being around you and talking to you. I also know I am attracted to you. I don't even know why. I just know I like you. 
I am telling you this because the door is open. I am not strong, confident or brave enough to tell you. I am just going to leave the door open. I wish I could be less awkward and a little bit more normal. I am not. I am not. 
I will only say it this time. I am not brave enough to actually say it. I'm just writing it so I can get on with my life. I did some things I've never done. In some ways, I've never risked as much as I did with you. In normal parameters is nothing. In my world, it's a big stretch. I am not expecting anything from you. I think I did a few weeks ago. Now I just need to get this out of the way. If there is a time to make a move, it is now. I mean a real move. I am bad at reading in between the lines. I am bad at flirting and I am lousy at understanding subtext. 
Of course, I am a coward. I will not actually say this to you. I am just writing it. I know you won't read it. I know I am safe. That is the beauty of writing. I get to live without living. I dream without actually dealing with the consequences of real life. 
I am sorry I am not a normal person. I am sorry I will keep playing the only game I know. I will not say I'd like to see you or talk to you. I will eat my words and feed my pride.

Anna Scott: Rita Hayworth used to say, "They go to bed with Gilda; they wake up with me."

It's funny how things end before even starting. It is funny how I constantly go through this and still, can't figure what I do that makes them shut off. I am this kind of person that gets adored in a distance, and when they come and take a closer look, they just loose interest. I know I'm broken and when they realize how messed up I am, they run. I prefer being adored in the distance. I prefer being the one they wish answered their calls. If you hadn't left, I'd still be that girl. 

I think men have this radar when they know you are vulnerable and they have a chance. Many of these failed relationships wouldn't have even started if I wasn't so broken. If I hadn't been in this hell year and wasn't so desperate to get over you. I hadn't even given them the time of day if you hadn't left. If you had stayed, I wouldn't have to go over and over this. I was so safe with you. Nothing thrilling ever happened. I was always sure you'll answer my texts, you would talk to me about your day, you would tell me what we'd do on the weekend. I was always sure you would make me feel wanted. I didn't have to worry how did I looked or if I was sexy. 

You broke my confidence. You broke my high horse and "I deserve better" attitude. You made me feel like a was so special, so unattainable and so yours. Nobody could ever measure to you. No one, in my wildest dreams could make me feel the way you did. I realized you were my safe net. I realized I need to make myself feel the way you did. I don't need you to tell me how beautiful I am. I need to tell myself that everyday. I don't have to wait for you to feel you are loosing me to hear how incredibly special I am. I can tell that myself everyday. I can now love myself more than I ever loved you. I couldn't have realized that if you hadn't left.

I tried. I swear I did. I tried to keep waiting for you. I tried to hold that feeling in me. I tried to love you no matter what. I just couldn't. I am no longer yours. I am my own. 

Entre letras y futbol

Mi papá nunca me contó cuentos de hadas o historias para niños. Para entretenerme me contaba, por partes, El cantar del Mio Cid. Mi mamá, antes de dormir, hacia un recuento de mi día a través de la creación de “las aventuras de una niña que era feliz, afortunada e inteligente”. Me regalaron la literatura y la creatividad.

Desde muy chica mi papá me inculcó el amor por el futbol. Desde que tengo memoria, me gustaba verlo y me ponía a jugar con los niños en el recreo. Uno de mis recuerdos más apreciados es mi papá explicándome formaciones y tácticas de juego. Su mejor herramienta de enseñanza era el Atlas. A los 8 años, recuerdo estar sentada en el sillón junto a mi papá mientras explicaba cómo se movían en bloque y la manera en que los carrileros subían y bajaban por las bandas. Fue amor a primera vista. Desde ahí, amé el futbol y me volví férrea seguidora del Atlas.

Durante la pubertad me llené de libros. Empecé a encontrarme a mí misma a través de la literatura. Encontré en el realismo mágico a las mujeres fuertes y decididas que me enseñaron que una mujer inteligente siempre es mucho más interesante que una mujer bonita. Me enamoré también de Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, Neruda y Benedetti. Encontré en Harry Potter la manera de crecer y enfrentar los demonios de la pubertad y adolescencia a través de los demonios que él enfrentó y venció.  

Pasé mi preparatoria entre la cancha, los libros, mis primeras letras y la escuela. Jugué futbol y encontré fuerza en mi voz. Aprendí a vivir intensamente. En los libros encontré historias de otros tiempos, otros lugares y con otras lógicas. Descubrí la literatura norteamericana. Kurt Vonnegut, John Steinbeck y Jack Kerouac llegaron a mi vida y con ellos uno de los libros que marcó mi vida. “The Great Gatsby” me llenó de asombro y admiración. Fitzgerald me enseñó a amar la forma, no sólo el fondo.

Estudiar Ciencias de la Comunicación ha sido de las decisiones más importantes de mi vida. También, ha sido una de las que más me han hecho feliz. En la carrera, coincidí con un grupo de personas que no sólo entendían y/o compartían mis pasiones, sino que también abrieron mis horizontes y se convirtieron en mi familia. Entre literatura, cine, chisme farandulero, futbol y política pasé en la universidad una de las etapas más felices de mi vida. Encontré también en la escritura una manera de vida. Siempre había escrito diarios y algunas historias. En esta época fue cuando me di cuenta que no me concibo sin las letras, propias o ajenas. Entiendo a través de ellas, la vida y a mí misma.

En esa época entendí que la gente no puede ser contenida en un molde. Me rehusé desde ese momento a ser etiquetada como "un tipo de persona". Era una alumna de escuela privada, voluntaria en una ONG, iba a los antros de moda el fin de semana, leía a Proust, compraba maquillaje chanel, sabía más de futbol que muchos hombres, iba al cineforo, caminaba en el centro los domingos y trabajaba en una compañía transnacional. A partir de ese época de mi vida, entendí que lo que más amaba de mí no tendría porque hacerme infeliz. Decidí dejar atrás convencionalismos sociales que marcan cómo debe comportarse una mujer tapatía. Dejé de preocuparme por no encajar en una sociedad y estructura que me llenaba de ansiedad. Aprendí a ser diferente y entendí que esas cosas que te pasan a los 20 no serían las mismas para mí.

A mis 28 años, siento que no he cambiado mucho. Me doy cuenta que sigo siendo una mujer que sólo se encuentra en las letras. Más allá de mi trabajo, mi vida y todos los demonios personales con los que lucho todos los días, soy una mujer enamorada de las letras. He tenido las relaciones más apasionadas y épicas dentro de mis letras. He creado mundos alternativos en los que no soy yo pero al mismo tiempo me encuentro en cada palabra. Leo para entender la vida y saberme un poco menos sola. Porque no hay nada más fuerte que la conexión con el arte. 

Mi vida se define por la pasión en lo que hago y la gente con la que comparto. Amo profundamente a mis padres y soy un reflejo de ambos. Amo a mis amigos, que son los hermanos que me han acompañado en todas mis locuras y me han salvado de muchas otras. Amo las letras porque mi vida transcurre en ellas. Amo el futbol porque, más que un deporte, es una forma de entender la vida. Amo viajar porque es la manera en que encuentro mil maneras de retarme intelectual y racionalmente. 

A través de los años he llegado a la conclusión que mi vida no es más que un recuento interminable de historias y partidos. Me enamoro cada vez que abro un libro, veo un partido, piso una cancha. No pertenezco a un sólo libro, ni tengo una sola historia.

Wednesday, May 07, 2014


Antes de irme quiero que sepas que te quedas con la niña inocente que moría de ganas de amar. Te dejo la niña transparente y llena de sueños. Se queda la enamorada del amor y la que podía soportarlo todo. Aquí contigo estará por siempre la niña insegura que sólo al escucharte decirlo se sentía bonita. Encerrada en un cajón, debajo de la cama que un día también fue tuya, la dejo. 
Se va conmigo únicamente la mujer que no tiene miedo. La que terminó y empezó tantas veces desde cero. Se viene acá la que no tiene miedo a estar sola y que te dejó ir el día que la rompiste. Se va conmigo el alma libre que había estado cautiva desde el primer día que te besó. Ella se viene acá porque ya no te tiene miedo. Ya no tiene miedo de verte enojado o lleno de celos. Ya no le importa que tanto la amaste o cuánto la mantuviste encerrada. Me acompaña la mujer que se rehusaba a ser la muñequita de aparador que nadie toca. Se va conmigo la escritora, la que siempre quiso odiarte y sólo le alcanzó para escribirte mil cartas de llenas de amor y rabia de no tenerte. Se viene la mujer que un día te dijo no más y cumplió su promesa. Se va la mujer que no teme y no te necesita para sentirse segura.
Es justo en el momento exacto. No me importa que todos digan que te di más de lo que jamás podría recuperar. No me interesa cobrarte todo eso que di y nunca correspondiste. Es ahora cuando puedo ser la persona que siempre tuve miedo de ser porque te podía perder. La verdad es que nunca te tuve. La verdad es que hoy, no tengo nada que perder.

Friday, May 02, 2014

Thank you

I know you are not interested anymore. I saw how, little by little, you started to stop caring about me. I’m not mad. I am not even sad. I am just frustrated. I wish I could know why you just didn't want me anymore. I wish I knew what is it I do to drive everyone away. I am aware it is about me. I can’t possibly blame someone else. It is me. I wish I knew.
Even though I know we will not be pursuing this any further, I want to thank you. I want to let you know you found me in a very dark place and your interest shone a light. I had been in some meaningless relationships that had ended horribly and had been a total failure. I just kept getting involved with men that just didn't present a threat. I couldn't possibly fall in love with someone like them.
I thank you because you had that potential and I didn't get scared. I tried it out. Obviously I failed miserably. However, I did realize I can do this. I can interact without the mind games. I was honest, truthful and forward. Something I had never been before. It felt good. You gave me the first “try out” where I didn't end up with so many ifs.
I am grateful you made me realize I don’t have to hide my mind. I don’t have to fake stupidity to have someone by my side. I know it was not my mind that troubled you. I know it’s something else. I’m not quite sure, but I learned.
I thank you, because you helped me move on. After you, I moved on from my biggest ghost. I stopped missing him, I stopped wondering what he felt, what he’d think of me moving on. I didn't stop to think if he would be jealous. I am free and you helped. I thank you for that.
I am grateful because for the first time I went with my gut. I didn't hear all the pros and cons lists my friends made. It felt good. I am weird and my friends keep trying to fit me into a box with someone conventional. I am not that kind of person but I was afraid to take that weirdness with someone else. Thank you for letting me get rid of social conventions and choose the one who is "no good for me".

Monday, April 28, 2014

No hay espacio

De entre mis más extraños sueños emerges. Vienes a entregarme todo ese amor que te regalé y ya no te sirve. Hace mucho te lo di y ahora vienes a decirme que ya no sabes dónde ponerlo. Ponlo donde mejor te parezca, que a mí, ya no me sirve. ¿Qué uso le puedo dar a todas esas noches en las que me recorriste entera? ¿De qué me sirve recordar cada centímetro de tu cuerpo desnudo?
Me vienes a decir que ya no me amas. Vienes como si nada, como si no hubiera pasado todo este tiempo y yo no me hubiera roto en mil pedazos. Siempre duele, pero tú, me has hecho sentir el frío hasta los huesos. Me has hecho temblar de ti, morir de sed. No puedes venir a decirme que ya no me amas.
Toma todo eso que te di y quédatelo. No tengo intención de guardarlo en el sótano, en la bodega de atrás de la casa. No se me da la gana recibirte todo eso que me quitaste con cada beso. No voy a pensar en todas esas promesas vacías que vienen acompañando a cada una de las palabras sinceras que te regalé. Me arrancaste todo y ahora me lo quieres regresar. No hay espacio. Llené el vacío de tu cuerpo con otros. Cambié la luz de tus ojos por la oscuridad, más densa, más pesada. Reorganicé los compartimentos de mi mente y los llené de libros. Cambié mi candidez por cinismo. Ya no cabe la niña enamorada y transparente.
¿Te acuerdas ese día que me dijiste que era la mujer de tu vida? Ya no cabe saber que hacía frío, que me abrazabas y que el cielo era gris. Ya no hay manera de guardar que me besaste y me dijiste que te morías de miedo de amar a alguien como yo. No existe forma alguna de guardar en algún lugar todas esas sonrisas compartidas que me quitaron el cinismo. No tengo lugar para meter todas las palabras que derrumbaron todas las paredes que construí.

No tengo ya espacio para guardar ese amor que te tuve. No hay manera ya de guardar toda la espera y las ganas de ti. No hay forma de acomodar todo eso que me hiciste sentir. Hoy te me quedaste fuera y dejaste todos los miedos y cicatrices de querer a alguien cuando hay espacio. 

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

El olor a madera mojada nunca me ha gustado

Me toma de la mano. Mis botas amarillas de hule bien puestas. Confio. Porque soy la favorita. Nadie nunca, nunca, pensaría en hacerle nada a la niña más linda y buena. Al sentarme, mis pies cuelgan y tengo miedo de caer. Por favor, no me dejes caer. 

Racionalizar todo. Todo tiene que estar racionalizado porque la gente no puede ser mala porque sí. Racionalizarlo para no ahogarme en la desesperación. Racionalizarlo para que mi soberbia cubra las cicatrices. Porque debajo de todo, sigo teniendo mis botas para la lluvia. Porque prometí no abandonarme y me he dejado esconder más de una vez. Porque no sé cómo. Porque me enseñaron a callarmelo todo. 

Vivir en la literatura. Vivir en el silencio para no encontrar esos gritos que me ahogan. Vivir en otro lugar, para no estar sentada. Para no sentir cómo se rompe mi vida, para olvidar cómo me di cuenta que la gente mala si existe. Vivir así, para poder tener metáforas de lo que me pasó, para poder romantizar todo lo que me pasa, para no tener que lidiar con la verdad. 

Esconderlo. Esconderme detrás de la persona que la gente espera que sea. Escondo a esta niña de botas amarillas tras de una mujer racional y controlada. Escondo a esa niña muerta de miedo tras de una mujer responsable y dueña de sus emociones. 

De repente, sin avisar, esta niña de botas me despierta en la noche. Ha estado visitando más de la cuenta. Me ve con los ojos llenos de lágrimas y me reclama. Me reclama que la tengo escondida, que la dejé sola y que me rehuso a volverla parte de mi historia. La borré del libro de mi vida porque las mujeres normales no pueden andar por la vida con ese pasado. La escondo en el cajón más lejano y oscuro porque las mujeres como yo no pueden estar tan rotas. No puedo estar así de rota porque si tengo una sola rendija por donde entre la luz, todos mis demonios saldrán a tomar el control. 

Tuesday, April 01, 2014

I think we can do this

The more things change, the more they stay the same. It was just like we never left. It was the same exact thing. It was just like this whole time never passed. It was just like we knew this wouldn't last. I think deep down you knew. I think you just let me have my process and waited. You waited like I had waited for you before. You didn't push, rush or break things even more. Sometimes it's just weird how much you know me. I think sometimes its not because of me but because of you these things go like this. I always resented your passivity. I will always do. However, now, I thank you for not pushing, for not confronting, for not doing anything at all. I don't know if it was lack of interest or just plain ego. No matter what it was, it makes it so much easier for us to come back. When there is nothing spoken of, we can't be mad. I like not being mad to you. I like being over this teenage tantrum and having you back. Of course, is not the back I once hoped for. It is not what I had in mind. Still, I need that part. I just need those moments. I don't need you to come and sweep me off my feet. Not anymore. I just need you to be there. To help me figure out everything I'm going through. I don't need you to touch me or love me. Not the way longed for so many years ago. Not the way I always wished. Today, I just want you to be part of my life. I want you here because you are an important part of it and, to tell you the truth, I never imagined it without you. The way I imagine it now is simply different. I want both of us to be happy because the other is happy. I think we can do that. 

Thursday, March 27, 2014

No te quiero

A veces me da miedo querer a alguien más. Te encuentro en todas esas caras extrañas y me lleno de fantasmas. Me acuerdo de cómo te lloré y cuánto te amé. Me quedé sin ganas de tí. Me quedé con todas esas promesas reducidas a un beso a media noche, sin ningún testigo. 
No te extraño. Extraño hablar de todo y nada. Extraño estar cerca aún en la distancia. Extraño los comentarios inteligentes, porque no siempre es fácil seguir mi proceso mental. No te extraño. Extraño escaparme en medio de tanta gente a un lugar para sentirnos cerca, besarte y morderte. No tengo ganas de tí. Tengo ganas de que me levanten la falda y me dejen sin aliento. Tengo ganas de que me despierten a media noche y me hagan el amor. Tengo ganas de morderme los labios para no hacer ruido y que nadie se de cuenta. 
No tengo ganas de tí. Tengo ganas de la persona que era contigo. Tengo ganas de la persona que era antes de amarte. No te extraño. Extraño las ganas de desnudar a alguien con solo verlo. Extraño la estimulación intelectual. Extraño la intimidad. 
No te quiero. Quiero ese mundo construido entre dos donde nadie más entra. Quiero desnudarme mil veces frente al mismo cuerpo. Quiero ese lugar donde instinto llena los silencios. Quiero esos silencios cómodos. Quiero todo eso. 

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

I had this feeling

I'm walking down the street and I hear my name being called out loud. It's a familiar voice but I cannot pin point exactly who's voice it is. I turn, I find you. After all of these years I find you, a husband with a new town house. I can't help but look at your left hand. It's filled with a life. A life without me, a story that does not have my name typed anywhere.

I will not lie. It hurts. It hurts to realize I don't know a damn thing about you. I only know what any person that has ever seen your facebook knows. You got married, you have 2 kids. You know about me the same things all my lost acquaintances read on my facebook page. I feel like somebody punched me on the stomach. I miss my breath.

After the politically corrects how you've beens and the rutinary kid's picture showing, we stay quiet for a minute. It feels like ages. It feels like I've been in silence for a decade.

-Would you like to grab a coffee? I've just finished a meeting and I could use the distraction.-
-Sure, I've got an hour or two to kill. -

We find a small coffee place a few blocks from the place we bumped with each other. You look at me as if I was this rare creature you cannot believe you found. My heart skips a beat. My head starts spinning. I feel like I'm 18 again. It feels like the first time we ever held hands.

Time flies. We don't realize it until your wife calls.

-Sorry. That reminds me. I don't have your current phone number. It would be great to catch up. Maybe set up a couple's dinner. I hear your husband is funny.-
-Yes he is. He makes me laugh at the stupidest things.-
-So... your number?-

I get this feeling. It's like I'm doing something I'm not supposed to do. I give it anyways. I mean, we're friends... right? This is harmless... right?

-Hello, it Mark. How you've been?-
-Ohh... Mark... ehm... good. How about you?-
-Great! Actually, the funniest thing just happened. Just as I run into you after years, I get this amazing tickets to the theater and my wife can't make it. She's sick... with the flu.-
-Ohh... mmm.. what play?-
-That musical we saw years ago, when we were still in college.-
-Ohh... I love it. Yes! I mean... hmm.. (what the hell). Yes-
-Should I pick you up at 7?-
-Don't be silly. I'll meet you there. Send me the address.-

I get this strange feeling. I lost everything. I got you back. 


En cuestión de proporciones la vida es sencilla. 

En relación conmigo, eres perfecto. Tus brazos son perfectos para rodearme sin asfixiarme. Tienes la altura exacta para alcanzar tus labios de puntitas. Tienes la complexión correcta para protegerme sin someterme y labios perfectos para besarme sin invadir mi espacio.
Existe una simetría exquisita entre tus ganas y las mías. Mantienes la distancia suficiente entre tu cuerpo y el mio. No me ahogas de tí. Me llenas, justo en la medida exacta. 

Tu cuerpo tiene el tamaño correcto, alcanzando la perfección con milímetros, del espacio vacío que tengo en mi cama. Tus demonios son igual de grandes y oscuros. Juegan bien con los míos. Tu locura me sostiene en el límite de mi cordura. La cantidad exacta para no envíarme al vacío. Justamente lo necesario para sostenerme al borde del precipicio. Tu sonrisa tiene la amplitud perfecta para llenarme de calma. Tus celos son la medida exacta que necesito para sentirme amada. 

Tus manos tienen la convección exacta para tomar las mías, la dispoción adecuada para desnudarme de todos mis prejuicios. Tus ojos tienen la calma suficiente para quitarme la ansiedad. Tienes las palabras correctas para jugar con las mías. Tienes el humor exacto para hacerme reír. Tus caderas caen exactamente en proporción a las mías. Tu cuerpo desnudo tiene la textura exacta para estar sobre el mío. 

No creo que estas proporciones mientan. No puede ser porque ese hueco tan perfecto, esas proporciones tan exactas las dejaste la primera vez que te fuiste, y solamente tu las sigues llenando.