Letter to my love

My Narcissuss,

In answer to your question of three months ago. I used to love your cloud photos and the way you used old words. The same way that you lowered your voice to make a point and at the same time sounding condescending. I used to hate, hate, the way you smiled so silly and dumb, and cute, and raw it was like the darkness in you hadn't found you yet. 

It wasn't easy because you were always letting down and I was always scared, of you, of him, of dancing and staying.

And you stop trying and I stopped waiting. And it was hating to love you and double thinking our time, it was intoxicating and it was the end.

Thus, now I have started hating. Thinking that that is easy. Hating the way your name sounded, the sweaters with the smell of cigarette, the end of a day without seeing you. It was kind of easy like used to it, it didn't hurt but it did bother me, like a missing piece in a puzzle.

And now I miss you. Miss the way you grabbed my wrist, never my hand. The far and beyond you would go for a friend, your short-tempered with your screaming and fighting. I miss the way that you were cold and distant but always warm. And I was missing your hugs and your aftershave, missing my name on your lips and your twisted ways of showing love. I was missing you to the point of no air in the lungs.

I can't hate you, it's impossible. Is wishing for the earth to stop moving, waking up without tea and honey, to forget the color of your eyes. If I could I wouldn't, I would keep hurting and crying, bleeding, sweating than hate you. Then make this crooked photo of you. Where you don't hold me to sleep, don't tell me plans for my escape. Leave me a door open so I can breathe, where I let you down one too many times and you do give up. I can't believe that there is a reality where you are a monster easy to hate. That would be wrong and I would be guilty of a crime.

I used to love the silly way you joked around. How you came all bruised up and bloody without an explanation. The songs you liked to sing low and lovely, my name on your mind, and me with you. We were amazing, a shooting star, a beginning with an end. And I miss you every day, second, minute and month but I could never hate you, my love,

Kind regards,

T.A.

First kiss

He kissed me unexpectedly,

slow and perfect

wanting to affirm that we exist

healing the invisible wounds,

deleting the memories of the predecessors,

he kissed me like I had dreamt when I was little,

simple and fireworks,

he kissed so I wouldn’t let him go.

T.A.

A sin for love

I have sin

the moment I smelled your scent

and held your hands in mine

I fell to the fires of hell and burned my soul

there I find myself every night that I close my eyes,

for choosing someone like you to love,

so imperfect and cruel to my heart

that hurts to breath

and it leaves me longing for messages that never come

with doubt that leaves my mind drunk

and I don’t believe that the torture ends there when I have broken commandments for him.

T.A.

The run

It starts at five years old, with running down the hall, it’s seven in the morning, everybody is sleeping, it’s a Sunday, and there is an importance in sleeping, in resting, but it’s Christmas, and the children don’t rest, the first to arrive slides on the floor and there are presents under the tree and around it.

After the children the adults arrive, at a slow and controlled pace, smiling with the surprise of share innocence and joy.

That was the first happiness.

At age 9, there is a stranger in the hallways, a boy with a crooked smile, two fallen teeth, and a stutter, no one talks much to him, because everybody runs, they all are it and the goose, everybody cares more about the game than talking, nobody learns his name, but. But there is a pleasure when he says that his name is Lucas and you discover his passion for football, there is a dance in your stomach that you don’t understand.

That was the first boy that you liked.

At thirteen, you are in the cubicles of the toilets, with your knees to your chest and your face hidden, you bite your lips, tears run down your cheeks to your neck and continue their way, when you hear  footsteps that approaching, you hold your breath and you hope they don’t hear, even though a part of you screams for them to discover you. But they leave and you keep crying, the hearts beat out of your chest, and your ears only replay the words you heard between the corridors, on the lips of your friends, in the lies you didn’t believe.

You stay in that toilet until they find you and you tell a lie that will be a habit.

You are fine.

At age seventeen, you run faster than the rest, you don’t have many friends and you don’t care, the teacher compliments you for your speed and you just do it to get away from the rest, in the grass you favour your heels and fly, fly away from them, and their lies, run from the screams of your parents, you hurry to leave that place, and you run fast and distant, and you win awards, you are in newspapers, there is a promise in you, and you can’t explain how running is everything, what you love, what you are, what defines you and saved you. There are times that you run alone at five in the morning, at eleven of the night and at seven of the afternoon, you run because it is life, and you have decided to live.

It’s when you find your passion in life.

At age twenty, they say you are made for greatness, that your legs are gold and your breathing is controlled, you have a team behind you and you met people who love your passion, you have grown, learn and evolve, you are good, excellent, and you want to be the best, you train without stopping, you asked your parents for silence, you erased your school, your friends keep changing.

You are the fear of the world, you are going for the gold, you are what they fear when you run, with strong legs and stepping without hesitation, ribbons break before the strength of your body, the world shouts your name, your country celebrates you, but you don’t stop, you keep running even when people chase you, you want more, you are hungry, you have grown up from pains and now you are gonna devour the world, faster than the antelope, you want to be the hunter, immortal and a legend, you have broken records, there are girls that want to be you and you haven’t finished yet, you keep going.

At this age, you discover competition and the thirst.

At twenty-four years old, they start talking about old age, retirement, of tired legs and damage to the knees, and you, you just smile at them, stretch and stand straight, and you win over the young promises of the world.

They wanted the world and you have given them a galaxy, no one stops you, there aren’t words that contain you, you have found friends that persist, your family stays with you, and you have discovered that although love doesn’t conquer everything, it does survive, if you are together and is important, it is a motivation and more than what you had when you were fourteen, seven, nineteen, and people still talk behind your back, there are still walls and the wounds still hurt.

You are the queen of what you wanted, but you are tired, you need light, peace, life and to slow down, you haven’t stopped to enjoy, you ask in silence, with a please and thank you and you take a year, people are afraid, tremble, saying that is your good-bye, that your youth has ended, you, you just walk without rush.

For the first time, you enjoy your life.

At age twenty-six, is your comeback, the world mentions your name with adoration. However, they don’t say it with fear, they say it amazed and in mercy, they don’t expect much from you, you are there because of promises to fulfil and a duty they owe you.

You let them, let them to continue with their stories, that you are not who you are, that your high school friends talk, again, that they talk about the knee, let them hurt and wound what they don’t know, because you run, run when they don’t see, at night with the sunset, from sunrise to noon, you don’t stop, and the prizes don’t matter to you, you want your passion, with the smile on your lips, light feet, the dust you leave to your opponents, you run with the wind, they have new nicknames for you, and they remember who you are, now they fear your name and your competition watches you with envy and the cubicles of the toilet is where you prepare before a race, they say that someone will stop you, that the future is faster, but you, you always end first, and you say to them that you are the wind, the wild nature and that you are faster than they cowardice.

It’s the time you beat everyone.

At thirty-one years old, you retire, simple and without notice, you say it during an interview, in a race, in a town, with your husband in the crowd, your family waiting and happy friends, you say it without comments and with a shine in your eyes, you mention it to them as a stranger and you let them where they had begun, your name is still on the lips of the world for months, for years. 

But your life with them is over, although, you still run, you run during the morning, alone, with closed eyes, loose fingers, hair in a ponytail and swift as the wind, there are people who watch you and stops, it’s a dance, it’s grace and elegance, it’s beautiful and perfection and when you run, it’s when you were five, first to the presents, it’s at nine after the boy with the stutter, at thirteen with the betrayals, at seventeen for a freedom, it’s to run for what you are and people observe but you don’t care, you are free and you are beautiful, spectacular, terribly impossible

T.A.

Demons of life

I haven’t been sleeping because my dreams look like nightmares, and my demons aren’t quiet.

Songs don’t help me sleep and I count up to ten for every response that I give, it isn’t hard to give in to their temptations, but still, I resist.

I count one, two, three, exhale and repeat.

My movements are organised and my presence looks dark, there is a tale between my eyes and my lips, of which no one is talking about.

Although, today, today I see that my demons are dancing and celebrating with my blood.

T.A.

Partners in crime

What's the plan?

Acid in bones,

dirt in our hands

lies in our lips

and sins in our blood

What's the plan?

Burn down our houses,

avenge our wounds

drink our demons,

mourn our agonies

What's the plan?

Justice by our hands,

injustice on our backs

sirens in our footsteps

the path you choose, I’ll be there.

So, what's the plan?

Change

I have decided to stop being as I was and to be who I am, what I used to imitate was disgusting with the: “Yes, sir” and the perfect smiles, with the clothes that hide the body and the fists with blood never spilled and knowing of the betrayals but never reacting, now I will burn them alive and I will dance to the tempo of their screams and wake up drunk with the blood of my enemies and thirsty for more, with the intention of bending the rules to my will and not to be a star in a galaxy but the galaxy.

This would be my revolution.

T.A.

The sun and the sea

I am sitting on a precipice, with the constant click click click of the pen that sways between my fingers. The sheets of my notebook move with the wind, my lips must already be violet from the cold and the biting.

 I came here about three hours ago and I haven’t moved since then. I have repeated at least seven songs, and the sun is about to set but I refuse to move. Because I am waiting. 

Waiting for the words to appear and to have a story in my mind that I could awake with ink. And leave it standing between the pages of a notebook that is hidden under my bed. However, my mind is thinking of bananas for breakfast, the yellow colour of the jacket and the distance of the stars. 

It’s thinking in different possibilities and several beginnings but no content for the story. So the time passes and the click click click becomes unbearable. 

I lay the pen between two rocks that I have to my left and I start to swing my legs. Thinking in the chances of survival if I fell now, be it by an earthquake or an error. I would fall to the void and to the noise of the waves hitting the rocks. 

In the logical part of my brain I know I would die quickly in a pain that would last ten seconds but that would feel eternal. However, in the fictional part, I think about the ways to live and the life that would follow to that. I let that life exist for ten minutes.

And when I see the horizon, I can visualise the reflection of the sun in the sea and I witness the moment when the sun gets to caress the earth. Where they are intimate for a few minutes, with the pink tones of his blush and the orange of their love and the water that shines with his light. 

I think about the beauty of the nature and love of those seconds of contact and magic. Where they can talk and fall in love, and without realising it, I have the pen in my hand. 

And I write, as I cross out, I write sloppy, with ink on my fingers and misspelt words. Without commas or periods, I write what my mind dictates and it dictates fast. The lines are filling out, with my tongue resting on my lips and my eyes that don’t blink and just stare at the page. 

They don’t absorb the letters and then they look at the sun that is slowly hiding behind his precious water. Hiding of his dear land to let way to his lover the moon. 

I keep writing, letting these brief minutes to illuminate me in the development of the story. I feel it on the tips of my feet, and the stings in my stomach that I am close, that these are the last words of my protagonist. 

Which ironically are the first, I am anxious and nervous, I am making more mistakes. Still, I hurry because the light is leaving me and with it my muse, so I write more clumsy, and their lips are close. 

With the agitated breathing and the bent legs, close to the climax, almost there, my hand is shaking and I should take a breath. Yet in my skin, I feel the cold of the night and the water is shining less. I can’t, I must continue, I don’t want to, I am almost there. 

I continue, he is leaving, however, she stops him, grabs him. The rays of the sun are fading and I almost see the first star, but she has him closer, their lips are there, only a push, and the story will be complete. 

I feel blood on my teeth, I must have broken my skin from all that biting and it doesn’t matter. Because I feel my heart in my throat and I am holding my breath, the toes of my feet are bent and my hair dances with the wind. 

He sighs her name, her hands are on his neck, cold and delicate, they are close, almost there. With the last words like an echo in my mind, my writing is getting slower knowing that is the end. 

My legs are moving and almost there from the kiss, the moon appears, I hear another click and my story stops there. 

Between the sun and the moon, caught in that instant and I could wait for tomorrow and get inspired again. 

But no, the almost kiss of them is their kiss and their proclamation of love. Another click, I give it my signature. 

Click, I get up and I leave with my shadow between the bushes and the closed notebook. 

T.A.

Definition

I am not the best person, I have less friend than fingers in a hand, my lips have not known the kiss of a lover,  and my tears have the taste of poison, there is evil that runs through my veins and I must bite my lips to not let it free, and is forgiveness 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, with a lie in my words and smiles in my eyes, there is no perfection in me, with my high and low notes, the broken Converse and my distance from love, there isn’t a but that is to come, there is no need to make excuses, those who know will know and the rest is mine, you can keep the knowledge that there is no source of kindness in me, there is a rotten beginning and from there my foundations are born.

T.A.