Situations XII

That moment when you don’t feel anymore at home when you’re at home. It’s just like you don’t belong there, like a stranger in a strange land. Nothing is the same, no-one is like they used to be or, more likely, you’re not who you were and you will never be the same again. And now the thing is you’re not afraid of leaving, you’re afraid of staying and being trapped in that weirdly familiar world, missing people who already left and without knowing who you used to know.

I can't stay.  I can’t stand it. I need to go.

This moment.

XII

Ashes spread all over,

dust on the fireplace,

a half-burned log

and a withered rose.

The old diver shivering

'cause the swampy water's cold.

No fish to be fed,

no fire to be warm.

Ghostly desires melting

as their chance is gone.

X

I look again

and she’s still there

living the life that’s mine.

Hate the way she behaves,

looking at me like waiting for a sign.

What does she want?

Always wearing that fake smile,

mimicking me and telling everything’s a lie.

Sometimes I want to destroy her.

Sometimes she wants to destroy me.

She fills me with terror,

that girl in the mirror.

You're like a freaking voice in my mind,

whispering and mumbling what I should have done.

But I don't care anymore
because I'm not the one I was before.
I'm gonna kill you with my imaginary gun
and left your damn turning-mute voice behind.

Essential

And suddenly one piece of myself is gone with you.

And I cry and it's useless and stupid.

I cry. 

I'm stupid. 

I don't fucking care.

But I hate that and so I cry. 

I'm stupid. 

Stroking the cat's hair

'cause it reminds me of yours.

Isn't it stupid? No, it's not.

Maybe it is. So what? 

A utopian week. The hardest awakening ever. 

A wait that again seems to go on forever.

But as Incubus said I know I'll see you again, so let's things just happen and wait for the plane.

Peter Pan Syndrome

If goodbyes were people,

I’d kill them all.

I’d rather be in jail

Than feel lost.

I knew this would happen

It’s not a surprise,

But I cannot help it

I only want to cry.

I know is not forever,

It’s just a see you later,

But I’m gonna miss you anyway

‘cause you’re my sister, my best friend.














A/N Yes, I know, it's too sentimental. I'm sorry, I cannot help it, it's my mood today. You know, I never write poems to people, even if they ask me to do it, but...

Missing and forgotten,
lifes coming and passing.
Old pictures getting blurred
'cause no-one wants to watch 'em.
But there's always a hand
that one day picks them up;
there's always a mouth
that blows the covering dust;
there's always a pair of eyes
that makes the pictures coloured;
there's always a smile
that turns the dead alive.

What do you see when you close your eyes?

Una humeante taza de café en la mesa, un sofá con una manta y una tarde entera por delante. No espera visitas. No quiere tenerlas.
Deja caer la cabeza sobre uno de los brazos del sofá mientras se tapa con la manta. Hmmm... It's fucking soft– piensa mientras se hace una bola tratando de calentarse un poco. Da un sorbo al café, que todavía quema, y cierra los ojos en un vano intento de relajación.
Fragmentos de la última conversación mezclados con pensamientos varios atraviesan su mente –... Don't forget to give her a call tomorrow... Oh, gosh, I had to buy... Damn!... I'm sure he meant it but what if I'm wrong? I better get things straight... Wake me up, before you go-go... I can't get this song out of my head... Yep, falling asleep is just as easy as closing the eyes...– 
Se incorpora para terminarse el café, congelado ya, de un trago. Mira la hora en el móvil. Se estira hasta que todas sus vértebras crujen y recupera la postura "bola". Vuelve a cerrar los ojos y sólo espera ver oscuridad. Pero éso sólo sucede durante unos instantes –... That night was fucking amazing, I haven't laughed so much since... I miss the old times... But I'm glad some things never change... When will I fall asleep!? Stop thinking, you fool!!!...–
Se levanta porque se cansa de la frustración que le produce el no poder conciliar el sueño, pero es que cada vez que cierra los ojos miles de imágenes aparecen. A veces desearía ser como un robot y poder desconectarse sin más. No ver nada es algo que le resulta imposible.
¿Y al resto de seres humanos? ¿Y a ti? What do you see when you close your eyes?

A little girl was sitting on the floor, 
her back leaning against the door 
and her forehead pressed to her knees.
Tears running down her cheeks
while hoping the next year
she'd be deaf and blind
so she could not see nor hear
what had been left behind.

Take the best and fuck the rest

Insomnia

I started drinking coffee when I was a little girl. I used to finish my mom's cup. Well, I have to say that my mom drinks white coffee, which in fact it's like a cup of milk with some drops of coffee. That's how I got used to the effects of caffeine. 
Little by little, as I grew older, the amount of milk was reduced and, suddenly, the cup I was holding contained what almost was a black coffee. People told me that I drank too much coffee for a teenager.  
Now, while I spend another sleepless night, I go to the kitchen, make some coffee and lean out the window smoking an imaginary cigarette. I hear the little baby's crying coming from upstairs and I wonder if he also suffers from insomnia. Then, I try to get some rest and I repeat to myself for the umpteenth time that that was the last cup.

Recurring dreams

I can't understand why you insist on appearing in my dreams.
It's been a while since I actually talked to you. It's been a while since I saw you for the last time at the library when I was trying to study and you distracted me with that puppy eye look. 
The more I try to forget you, the more I find myself thinking about you and it makes me sick. Why don't you just disappear for good? Because I know that happy endings have nothing to do with us and when I thought it could be possible I was a complete fool.
So, please, go to anyone else's dream tonight. I've had enough. 

Situations VIII

That moment when you get bored of being bored and, suddenly, you realise you can do a lot of things on your own, so turn your creative mode "on" and... everything goes better than expected.

Situations VI

That moment when you know you have to choose: HEADS or TAILS. Which actually means "all or nothing". You can get what you were looking for and be a little happier (or much happier, in fact), or you may be condemned and lose everything you've fighted for. Such a big deal, isn't it? Which one would you choose?
I think there's only one possible answer: you flip the coin. Heads, you win; tails, try again. You can try as many times as needed, of course.

Situations IV

He was decided, "I'll do it tomorrow" he thought.

He had been planning every detail for a long time. For too long, actually. And he knew it.

He knew that the more he waited, the worse the consequences would be. But he was a coward git, and he knew it too.

It wasn't the first time he had to do it, but he had never learnt to manage those situations and he felt stupid sometimes because of that. What on Earth was wrong with him? It wasn't supposed to be so difficult. 

He was freaking scared, but he was going to do it anyway. Because he wanted to demonstrate that the silly statement "nothing lasts forever" was not true (it couldn't be, could it?).

All-or-nothing.

I think I have a screw loose

As time goes by I have realised I cannot tell one day from another anymore. It's like living a continous déjà vu. I don't know if today is actually today bacause it could be yesterday and I wouldn't notice it. And the worst of it is that tomorrow I'll feel the same way again. One day more, one day less... It doesn't make a difference.
I think I'm losing my mind. I'm not strong enough to connect my ideas between them.


Maybe... I should take a break and stop reading my notes. Intensive studying turns people crazy.

It is really impressive how my mind turns soooo creative when I should be studying. Well, maybe is not creativity but boredom. Anyway, the result does not change: I start typing a bunch of nonsense without thinking what the h*ll I'm writing. I don't know why I'm writing in English, I just felt like doing it, because sometimes my ideas (mad and sensless ideas) flow quicker in my mind when I don't use my mother tongue.
I have no intention about using this blog as the diary of a teenage girl (perhaps because I'm not a teen), but today and maybe tomorrow – and I don't want this to set a precedent– I'm going to write (and I've already written) whatever silly little things that come to my –today– brainless skull.