Every now and then...

Every now and then I think of you. I remember your eyes, I remember your lies. Every now and then I wonder. I wonder if I could have been the one. I wonder if you could have ever taken a chance. That's the problem with maybes. We make ourselves believe we might one day get what we always wanted. That's the problem with not saying goodbye.

I wish I could say you love me. I wish I could say you're just too scared to be with me. The truth is you don't, the truth is you are not. I keep wishing you'll show up in the middle of the night, heartbroken. I wish you would just come and say those three words. I'd give anything to hear you say I love you.

It rains. Its pouring. I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop hopping you'll come and rescue me from all this nonsense. I keep wishing you'll have this epiphany where you realize I'm your destiny. It will never happen. My door is locked, you are not coming in the middle of the night to knock it down. 

Just when I am about to let go of all this hope, you come around. You call. You text. You ask me about my day. Not because something happened but because you just wanted to talk to me. It breaks my heart. It tears apart every single fiber in my body. It feels like putting my self back together after being broken for so long. It feels like dying. It kills me to think I am just this random thought. It takes my breath away, you still know every single button, how to push it and where to find it. It makes me mad. It angers me to fall back into you that easily. I don't fight back. I jus text you back, answer the phone and tell you all about what is going on. 

We do this every time. We just pretend we are back to the beginning, with no commitments, no shattered hopes and nothing else to lose. It's like you'll be coming by like you used to and we'll just do the things we used to. 

These moments are so precious. There are these wrinkles in time where nothing has been broken. We laugh, we talk. Sometimes, we take a chance. We get so close, you brush against me and lean over. This instant, this second, makes it all worth while. All the lies, all the dreams, all the made out memories and hopes become nothing. An electric impulse triggered by your fingertips, runs all over my body, and every tear I shed goes away. 

I cried you, not a river, but an ocean. I hurt as bad as anyone can hurt. I cursed a hundred times. I promised myself I wouldn't go back for more pain. But then, you kiss me. You drink me in and then I forget about the pain. In this instant, I am whole again. I can't think of a reason to keep you out. I can't think, period. I love to be this way. I love who you make me. I am back to my careless, free and happy self. 

I swore I would never take you back. I did, just for one moment. Everything else vanished, you were here, not with her. Now, after the high, I'm all broken inside. I am back to the mess you left so many years ago. Everything I managed to put back together got shattered again. I must not be right in the head, however, to tell you the truth, I'd do it all over again. 

Get out

You better run. You better take off. This will get ugly. This will get twisted, dark and very very painful. Run. Get out. Flee. Don't look back. I will hurt you. It's just the way I function. I have this urge to make people like you hurt. I have this itch. I have this hidden desire. Run.

I see you and find the worst version of me. I bring out the worst in you. What is there to burn? Flee. Don't come back. I'm not kidding. I've been trying so hard to stop being the person I've always been. You make it impossible. You look at me, you want me, you need me. I've said it before, I'll say it again. There's nothing stronger than obsession. Let me go. Let this fade. Let it all go away.

You keep coming back for more. Stop. Find your way, away from me. Find yourself in another place. Don't. Don't give me that look. We can't turn back time. We can't make it all right. I'm not a second-chance kind of girl. Once you've failed you'll never get another shot with me. I make you believe you might. I lie.

I've never been this honest. I'm opening the door. Get out. This is your chance. Get out!

Rota

Puedo ser esa mujer. Puedo ser la que espera. Puedo ser la que se queda callada y no pide nada. Puedo ser la que es fiel aún sabiéndolo en otra cama. Puedo serlo. Lo fui por mucho tiempo. Perdí mi voz, perdí mi corazón y perdí hasta la razón. Siempre sentada, siempre cerrando la puerta con seguro para que nadie más entrara. Puedo volver a serlo. No quiero.

Amarte, así como yo lo hice, me dejó sin ganas de ceder. Me dejó sin la menor intención de volver a entregar todo sin esperar nada a cambio. Me quedé sin ganas. Me quedé sin lágrimas. Me quedé sin esa persona que no le tenía miedo a nada. Me llené de dudas. Me llené de preguntas de las que ya tenía respuesta. No, no eres tú. No, no soy el amor de tu vida. No, no soy la mujer con la que eventualmente terminarás por sentar cabeza. 

Ahora, después de tanto tiempo, me sigo preguntando si me rompí yo sola o si te dejé romperme. Después de todas esas lágrimas, de todos esos perdones, de todas esas ilusiones, sigo pensándome insuficiente. Después de todo este tiempo, toda esta gente, sigo creyendo que soy yo la que está rota. Pero si no me he roto yo sola. No me he desgarrado el alma así, como si no fuera nada, yo sola. Me has hecho creer que no está bien querer a alguien y dejarse querer. Me has hecho sentir que no hay forma que alguien más me pueda querer. Si tú, que conoces todo de mí, no me has querido, la culpa la tengo yo. La que no tiene remedio soy yo. Porque a ti, a ti, si te han querido. Te ha querido más de una. A mí, no me ha querido nadie. 

Soy yo. Soy yo la que ya no quiere querer. Soy la que busca ser esa persona para él, el otro y aquel. Porque nadie me puede querer. Porque enamorarse a estas a alturas de alguien tan rota, no es de persona sensata. Entonces, está bien. Entonces, tomo lo que se dignan a dar. Porque siempre fue así. Porque contigo me mantuve enamorada más de la cuenta y así, con lo poco que me diste, fui feliz. No me dabas las buenas noches, no me dabas las cenas, los regalos, las horas del día. Me dabas tus noches completas, tus ganas. Era suficiente. 

Entre tantas letras, a veces, encuentro mi voz. Me acuerdo que no es suficiente. Que me prefiero sola. Que me prefiero con la voz fuerte y la sonrisa completa. Porque así, así si me dan ganas no sólo de quererlo a él, sino de quererme a mi. Entonces, las migajas son insuficientes, las escondidas en la noche no me alcanzan y tengo demasiadas ganas de mi cama sola y muy pocas de tenerte aquí metido. Me costó la ilusión de verme como en las películas. Me costó las ganas de encontrar dónde poner tanta alma. Es demasiado sentir para un alguien tan pequeño. Porque me cabes en medio cajón de la cómoda y yo tengo un mundo de espacio. Porque si no lo quieren todo yo ya no quiero nada. Ya me dejaron el cuento de hadas muy mal escrito y no tengo ánimos de arreglarle a alguien más la narrativa.