Faith & Foes

I am excited by its potential, I am crippled by my mind

It is only through patience that we can bind

Something so strong that will stand the test of this time

I am brave, I am strong, I am courageous, I am wrong,

But why, oh why, does my feeling persist

That life is bittersweet and always has a twist

On this point I insist, I will always need your kiss

My faith is in my butterfly, my foe is in my fear

I don’t doubt my feelings but I realise I am near

To seeing her one day, when again we will be clear

That our love is too strong to listen to the fear

For I know that if I believe, then we will receive

What one can only imagine and what two can only achieve

Oxidized Umbrella

I like you rain because your sound and presence are the only perfect elements of my oh so imperfect life. Because you manage to gently pull me away from this- mostly imagined- reality, so that I can be saved from my own mind.

I really like you rain because you remind me of the red shoes and green sweater uniform I proudly wore for many years, years ago. Because you bring me back to aguapanela con queso, and the times when my heart consisted of only the four of us.

I like you because when the completely soaked homeless lady asks me for 25 cents while I slowly walk home sporting my blue oxidized umbrella, and $232 overpriced black boots, I fall in love with my present.

I really like you rain because you hold my hand when I cannot get myself to read the Love Story card he left on my desk/dinning/coffee table as I am finally crying truthfully, from my heart, uncontrollably -the way he would like to see me cry one day.

I like you because you calm me down, so that I can slowly walk to my bed and pick up the love card, read it, smile, and fall in love with him all over again.

Dos Besos

Justo después de salir del segundo sitio al que él la llevó en su primera cita: un bar de vino muy chic y decorado con tonos extraños, fuertes, profundos y tal vez efímeros -como el amor- caminaron los dos de gancho en medio de una de las más fuertes tormentas de nieve de ese invierno que sin duda alguna, y como todos los inviernos, parecía eterno.

Ella vestía un abrigo blanco que la protegía perfectamente de tal tempestad. Él, por el contrario, portaba una chaqueta corta más bien diseñada para un invierno londinense pero no, definitivamente no para un febrero neoyorquino. Ningúno de los dos, eso sí, calzaba los zapatos adecuados, por fortuna, porque así fue que terminaron de gancho después de que ella se resbalara repentinamente al intentar caminar sobre una acera cubierta de blancos papelitos que ya se habían acumulado para formar una capa de más o menos quince centímetros. Él los condujo pacientemente en medio de miles de resbaladas hacia Washington Square y allí, a pesar de la fuerza del clima - y muriéndose del frío- accedió a tomar algunas fotos, fotos que resultaron desenfocadas e ininteligibles, tal vez porque sus manos temblaban tanto como su corazón, eso esperaba ella por supuesto. Ella, por su parte, deseaba lanzarse encima de los acumulados de nieve y de pronto delinear un angelito con movimientos acertados de sus extremidades. Sin embargo, sus nervios y la intención de mantener la altura y comportarse decentemente - al menos en la primera cita por favor!- la mantuvieron al márgen de tremenda espontaneidad.

Después de disfrutar de un Washington Square románticamente cubierto en malteada de coco, caminaron ya sin rumbo determinado. ¡Ella feliz! Ya que el caminar significaba que él ofrecería su fuerte y musculoso brazo para ayudarla a navegar, y una vez más su delicado -y un tanto apaleado corazón- latiría emocionado dada la pequeña ilusión momentánea que se empezaba a tejer en su alma. Era ya hora de terminar el encuentro, y en medio de calles ya sin señalización (todos los letreros verdes estaban cubiertos de nieve) juntos caminaron en búsqueda del icónico medio de transporte Neoyorquino: Un Yellow Cab. Como acordado, abordarían el mismo taxi hasta la Calle 38 del lado Este de La Isla donde él partiría a encontrarse con otros amigos. No fue difícil encontrar uno por suerte, ya que minutos después sus labios se confundían en un danzar acompañado por millones de copitos blancos que hicieron el papel de expectadores y música de fondo al mismo tiempo, cayendo suave y a veces repentinamente sobre el caparazón del vehículo. La danza era lenta, intensa, sensual, tan cercana. Acompañada de un bandoneón interpretado con pausas inesperadas y de bits que se amplificaban perfectamente en el corazón. Fue un beso de Tango electrónico. Memorable, irrepetible.


Meses después, las flores y el olor a comienzo adornaban los sentimientos de dulzura, cariño, confusión y tal vez amor de aquellos dos que se habían besado por primera vez en medio de una tormenta de nieve en un taxi amarillo de Nueva York, y ahora se despedían por penúltima vez mientras sorteaban la congestión de la parada del subway de la Calle 14/Union Square. Normalmente despedirse en la Calle 14 no significaba mayor cosa pero esta vez, esta penúltima vez estaba inundada de dolor enmascarado, de tristeza irreparable. Ya no había nada que hacer. Los dos aparentaban no sentir lo que sentían, no querer llorar a cántaros, no saber que el final se acercaba. Se dijeron adiós sin mucha pompa, como si no supieran que era uno de los últimos dos adioses. Ella bajó su cabeza conteniendo el deseo de seguirlo con la mirada hasta que el tren arrancara. Él también se contuvo y no miró hacia atrás. Pero ya cuando las puertas del vagón se cerraban y restaban sólo segundos para contemplarse, ella -instintivamente- alzó su mirada al mismo tiempo que él, ya afuera del vagón y con un gesto muy varoníl salpicado con el toque perfecto de ternura y cariño, giró su cuerpo y alzó su mano hasta el nivel de sus labios para enviarle el beso volador mas sexy y amoroso que ella había hasta entonces recibido. El beso, despues de viajar por entre pasajeros que entraban y salían sin orden alguno, y escabulléndose a través de los milímetros que quedaban de espacio entre las puertas eléctricas que ya se cerraban, se posó lo más rápido y acertadamente posible en sus labios de color rosa intenso. Los labios aún lo recuerdan (al beso). Ella siempre recordará (al caballero).

Harsh

Liberty, might include, in the ever-branching of its concept, not only the right, but perhaps the duty, not only, but perhaps... what was I thinking? OK, let's change the topic. My favourite member(s) of the legume family are Lens culinaris because you put them in water the night before and then cook them in the hob "the day" and they become soft, and a lot of flavour comes out of them as if flavour needed to be soft in order to exist.

Oh, my thoughts are in tune again. How shoen! We should allow ourselves the pride of not making sense sometimes, as that is an example of how limitless we could be.

I did remember your Birthday

It's been almost three years, and I still want to say Happy Birthday to you! [Big hug]
Pero I am supposed to leave you alone, let you move on...

But yesterday, I cried. A few tears, but still a cry, tear, cry--- tear
And I got drunk of chocolate and words--- a tear

I will probably never forget it (your birthday)
I will definitely never forget (YOU)

...I do, I do know that you lost you and I lost me.

I snap out of it; I remember that I found me.
You will find you.
My tears skillfully turn into smiles
And tears and smiles talk to the butterflies I now feel

...the same tears that will remind you of me, and butterflies that will make you smile about her.

Because of what I did

She’s been in PRISON for two years because of what I did. Nine more to go. All I can think of is her. And, believe me, I do not think much these days as time, space, and reality ultimately do not reach me anymore.

Her and her sweet smile, her hugs, the immense unconditional love she always gave me, her kisses, adventure stories, weird jokes, loud laugh, and crazy dance moves. The many languages she spoke, and how much I still admire her for that. The sound her heels made when she sneaked back into her room at 5 am- once per week when she was a teenager. Our parents never found out; I will never tell. The lessons she always wanted me to learn, the delicious meals, our precious moments composing, singing, and mostly laughing. Our trips, multiple fights, and everything else in between that I now miss--tremendously. All those memories now float around my infinite and yet peaceful existence.

I imagine her busy winter, spring, summer, and fall days and dream of her enjoying them, wearing her hair up, always up no matter what. Her feminine and colorful dresses, and the iconic red lipstick, which tastefully complements her skin. I remember when I used your red lipstick to write all over your Barbie Superstar; I am sorry for that too.

Why don’t you ring me anymore? Nobody has called me ‘little rabbit‘ since we last spoke. I miss you too...

I hear you speaking to me. But, if you ever stop, I won’t blame you. I see you sitting on that stupid chair; I sense you when you suddenly cry uncontrollably and wish to disappear. I understand you sometimes, often times, many times wish you would cease. I feel you faking a smile when you tell your friends you are doing OK while skipping one or two seconds of breath.

Remember that trip you wanted us to take? I wish I had gone with you. I am sorry that, instead, I am now gone. I never told you how lucky I always felt to have you in my life, in my blood. I never thanked you for everything. Now I can only beg for your forgiveness. I know you never expected this of me; I know you believed I was as strong as you are.

If I had known I would put you in infinite prison my lovely sister, I would have never JUMPED. It may comfort you to know that I- your stupid bro- can finally and limitlessly spread my wings, and fly.

Wanting to Stay

As she ate her first- and probably last- traditional Chocorramo chocolate covered vanilla cake of the year, she tried very hard to focus on the delicious flavors of such a wonderful invention, attempting to ignore her feeling of absurd emptiness. She even sought comfort in observing the children half playing half fighting in the waiting room of the airport-the one closest to her hometown. But, having failed at both endeavors, her last resource was to concentrate on her new book. Unsuccessful at that as well, she allowed herself to delightfully listen to as many regional accents as she could grasp (and take into her heart) in the few minutes she had left before boarding the plane.

Inside the aircraft she felt strong, safe; she was now absolutely convinced she could leave this time around without making a scene. After all, airplanes are neutral territory since they all smell and look the same and don’t really remind anybody of a place in particular. Her confidence in her drama-free departure lasted for about two and a half minutes when the newly installed personal televisions automatically turned on to what? No, no the safety flight instructions ladies and gentleman. The TV right in front of her, the same one she could not turn off, made sure to remind her very clearly through a well thought out national pride and tourism campaign that she was leaving the land where "dolphins look like they have been painted by children," where you can live in eternal Spring, where magical cities look like a movie scene, and where the only risk people face is wanting to stay.

She began to fall apart from the moment she saw the first image of the incredible pink dolphins, the colorful flowers, the amazing architecture, and the beaches she never gets tired of visiting. And, let’s don’t forget here the campaign’s soundtrack elegantly reminding her of her adventurous and happy childhood years learning to sing and play all the traditional tunes... She could not control her emotions anymore, throat closing, eyes watering, TV on- there was no escape at this point. And right there, only half a second before the army of tears began its steep descending course, a little girl in purple shirt, skirt, sandals, and nail polish sat next to her and asked:

Little girl- Why did the atoms say goodbye?

She- why?

Little girl- Cause it was time to split!

She laughed pretty loudly, and then smiled at the little girl making sure to save this magical scene in her imaginary memories box.

Now sitting on the New York City Subway Transport System she,once again, attempted to focus on her book, finishing the story she never really paid attention to at the airport that day. The story narrated how the main character had gone out fishing early that morning with his dad, as usual. However, this time around, the dad inhabited a green and silver Thermo bottle, or rather, his ashes populated that container. She cried, and quickly wiped her tears hoping nobody had seen her. Then she allowed herself to pleasantly pay attention to all the languages being spoken around her, making sure to deposit in her heart all the wonderful as well as the interesting sounds before boarding the plane that every year takes her to that place where dolphins are pink, and she eats her first- and probably last- Chocorramo of the year.

Released on Probation with Voluntary Surrender

Sooner or later Rebecca was going to get attacked in that elevator. She just knew it. She got in - unusually early that day after leaving work at 3pm to meet an old lover. The elevator: empty. Then, four floors down, the unwanted stop on the sixteen floor occurred. He got in, about 5’11,’’ 180 pounds, and very built. His hands presented two visible scars, and looked pretty bit up. Rebecca unconsciously reacted by immediately moving to the back of the tiny and half-elegantly decorated Federal Probation Office 1920s wooden elevator. I say half elegantly decorated because the ‘modernizers’ of the lift had done a tremendously awful job at mixing metal and wood in that vertical transport system. Her breathing pattern had gotten slightly altered - she unpleasantly noticed.

‘I cannot believe it,’ she said to herself. ‘Why do I have to ride the same elevator as all the offenders that are currently under Federal Probation?? I mean, this job- come to think about it- should at least pay me more, considering the risk. Thankfully I learned Spanish back in high school. At least I will know what he is planning...”

The elevator ride turned out to be as intense as trying to decipher why loving someone can, sometimes, be completely unpostponable, volcanic, and unfeasible all at once. Each fourteen-second stop on every floor felt like an abysm. He, little by little, stepped back closer to her, head down and constantly moving his hand in and out of his right pocket. Then, his wrist began hitting the left wall, three times exactly. His puffy winter coat almost touched Rebecca’s left arm at this point. She was very nervous, still pretending not to have noticed his odd behavior while in reality closely and anxiously following his every move. Exactly two milliseconds before his wrist hit the wall for the fourth time- she will never forget- he quickly and aggressively turned around, and said to her in perfect English: “You look exactly like my daughter would have looked at your age.”

Rebecca’s system froze. Her brain tried to process the incident, but her soul wouldn’t let her. Instead, she leaned against the back of the elevator while its doors slowly closed making that particular ‘we may break this time’ sound. And there she stood, completely alone, with no ammunition to understand what had just happened, with no direction whatsoever, her mind completely detached from her body, somewhat paralyzed, and definitely not ready to leave. Ironically, Rebecca had just experienced what ‘offenders’ feel when released on probation with voluntary surrender.