My Sister

she's way more beatiful than her brother

She just looked at me.

I just knew.

We just smiled.

White Kiss

The way she stares at you with those smiling shining eyes. The way she intermittently giggle. The way she craftily caresses your back when she passes by your side. The way she lightly touches you with the tip of her fingers. The way she messes up with your hair. The way she shyly holds your hand by the fire. The way she talks. The way you listen.

"But the Sun will shine tomorrow, that's a given," stating.

"No, that's a gift, I love the feeling of the sunlight rubbing my face... every single day, it's unique. I love the way her eyes smile at me... every single time, it's unique," he paused. "Of course, you can always think in terms of givens... and miss her."

Pauses

"I should go now..."

Asking... Knowing, knowing.

"Yes..."

Pause.

"You..."

Pause.

"...should..."

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

"...go," whispering. "Now..."

Glass

picture by Meredith Farmer

Above, a sea of clouds. Infinite shades of gray.

Below, the beauty of the beach, the river, the parks, the roads, the low buildings, the cars, the people... Flying free over an always for it breathtaking landscape.

All of a sudden, the sky was broken by a deep purple creak. Then came the thunder. Then the rain.

It quickly flew towards the squared cave, looking for protection.

The glass was cold, the impact was fatal. It plummeted.

He was working on his computer when a racket brought him back to reality. Something had impacted the window of his office.

Five minutes later, he found a bird downstairs, among some bushes, dead.

While looking at it, he could not help thinking about himself, sitting in front of the screen, standing up, looking around before nose-diving into the screen, falling down the hole...

Collage

Life

is like a collage
that you do,
alone
or
with the people
you love.

Sometimes
colorful,
sometimes
black and white...

Always meaningful...

Nómada

Sólo cuando la vuelvo a ver. Entre la multitud, de espaldas a mí. Se gira a la vez que todo a su alrededor se difumina. Me reconoce a pesar de mi aspecto descuidado. Sus labios dibujan una ligera sonrisa, sus ojos no. Sus ojos brillan, iluminan un océano de nostalgia en busca de un viejo bajel a la deriva. Me acerco a ella y la reverencio con un protocolario beso en la mejilla. Un escalofrío. La última vez que la vi, hoy hace trescientos noventa y siete días, me despedí de ella con un apasionado beso bañado en lágrimas de añoranza anunciada. Un beso eterno.

- ¿Cuándo te vas?

- El jueves, el jueves sale mi avión...

"Es el precio a pagar," pienso mietras mi estómago se marchita. "Uno de tantos." Mientras hablo con ella de cualquier cosa no puedo evitar maldecir mi hipoteca. El tiempo pasa y pronto será jueves. El río de mi vida sigue fluyendo hacia un océano infinito. Oscuridad, un viejo bajel a la deriva.

No soy

En mi incoherencia reside mi coherencia.

No soy un hombre,
no soy una mujer.

No soy astrónomo,
no soy físico,
no soy escritor,
no soy escalador, nadador, futbolista, ciclista, orador.

No soy honesto,
no soy sincero,
no soy fiel,
no soy impúdico, hipócrita, abarraganado.

No soy alumno, no soy maestro.

No soy tú,
no soy yo,
no soy él.

No soy pasado,
no soy presente,
no soy futuro.

No soy lo que yo soy,
no soy lo que tú eres,
mi imagen, tu imagen, su imagen.

No soy el mar,
no soy los ríos.

No soy el cielo.

No soy amarillo, no soy rojo, no soy azul.
No soy naranja, verde, marrón.

No soy mis bienes,
no soy mis amigos,
no soy mis logros, metas, temores.

No soy Dios.

¿Quién soy, pues?

No soy.