Wounds

And thus my knee was broken.

It hurt. I could not remember anything as painful. I could not imagine anything as painful. I cried. It was not only the pain. It was the uncertainty. The uncertainty, above all. I knew right away it was not just another injury. I was certain.

The surgery went well, they told me. It is a matter of time. I was on a hard cast for a few everlasting months. It was tedious, boring. My friends kept stealing smiles from me. My pillow was wet every morning. I could not handle the impotence of not being able to move by myself. Lack of freedom. Stones.

Physical therapy came later. Having to learn again. Frustration and hope. One fall after the other. Stand up and try again. One more time. All of a sudden, the glass is not half empty anymore. All of a sudden, the glass is half full. Of a dark purple full bodied wine that opens with an aromatic menthol like bouquet with faint hints of cherry, and feels very smooth as it enters the mouth and quickly dries out the palate. Savory.

Once everything was over, it was still not. I missed the one I were. I was still afraid and it still hurt. It takes time and strength to let oneself be vulnerable again. I did not want to push myself to the limit. The fear was always there and I did not want it to happen again. Not again.

And then, suddenly, it is as gone as it is not, as it is always with you. And I remember it with a smile every single time I look down and see the stitches on my knee. I know that was for real. It is. I know it will never go away. Some wounds are forever. Just like the notch you leave in my heart. Just like the one I leave in yours. Magnetic fields and uncertain paths. And by the end of the day, the wondering, and the puzzle pieces. The damn puzzle pieces that are nothing without each other...

what if

what if the white is black?
and the black is white?
what if there is no gray for us?

what if our eyes give away
the smile we try to hide?
what if we fight back?

what if we listen to the everlasting silence?
what if it is so loud
that we can see it?

what if we drown in the smoke from the burning cloves?
what if a fractal is caressing us?
what if we flow?

what if feeing led us somewhere only we know?
what if we are already there
waiting for each other?

what if we cannot hide?
what if we are afraid of the shine?
afraid of the dark?

what if i walk away?
would that help?
what if the fog wolfs me down?

what if we are late?
what if you are happy now?
what if we never left?

what if it is now?
not then?
what if the feathers lightly touch our skin?

what if we are meant to be?
what if enough is not enough?
what if it is love?

what if?
i do not know
and so i close my eyes
and there is only one
one if (❦)

actually

사랑해요

enough!

and she drove back home,
and he rode back home,
some goodbyes are meant to last,
some goodbyes are meant to be a part of us,
they would see each other again,
but the full moon would never shine like tonight...
tonight it burns,
more than the sun.

ilu

보고 싶어요

Naked, in front of the mirror, he feels naked for the first time.

Yesterday he willingly undressed his self in front of her, beautiful her, without agenda, with hope. His heart did the talking. No more manufactured words. He felt like a cliff diver falling free. And then, then the fresh water. The fresh water and the sparkling liberation.

His reflection in the mirror. He is selfish but generous, restless but calm, egotistic but modest. Only then he understands happiness is not the opposite of sadness. Now he is aware of his love for her the way he is the sun will shine tomorrow. Even if it only does it above the clouds.

He closes his eyes and finds a way back (❦) to somewhere only they know (❦), a place he should have never left.

And thus he waits.

The Cell Phone

- I can't. I want to. But there's something still missing...

He grabbed her hand and walked her to her car and drove her to a cell phone store nearby.

- I want a cell phone that can only get and make calls to her number.

The shop assistant handed a cellphone to him. He dialed her number while looking for the shine on her eyes. There it was, only to go away. She run away.

Alone, he felt empty. He was just skin, creasing skin falling slowly. He let go the cell phone. Silent tears.

Ring tone. Pause.

Before hitting the floor he caught it.

- It's me. I had my cell phone in the car.

The rainbow before waking up to an annoying alarm clock.

the white leather armchair

Once upon a time there was a white leather armchair in one corner of a living room of a small student apartment, where Mr. and Mrs. Román spent their time each day before and after school.

One night he happened to end sat in the white leather armchair after letting his being interact with pink elephants. On board of an empty and transparent Air India Boeing 777, together with the captain and Mr. and Mrs. Román, they traveled across Asia, crossing the Himalayas, between India and Nepal, above the Pokhara Lake towards Kathmandu. Cabin depressurization. Free fall. Symbiosis.

When Mr. a Mrs. Román left, in search of their dreams, nothing was left behind. Only an empty student apartment with the white leather armchair in one corner of the living room. Rumor has it that the white armchair was waiting for him. He found it there before a farewell party, surrounded by silence. He dived again into its embrace. It was his.

She gave him a ride home after the party. She sat on the white leather armchair in the corner of a small bedroom in a big house on the outskirts. He fell for her shy smile. He fell for her smooth breath. He fell for the shine on her eyes. Looking at her, sitting on the white leather armchair, he fell for her. But he never said.

He loved her later, but never shared with anyone the tickling. Not even her. Never shared that when he saw her comfortably sat on the white leather armchair he went back to Asia, to the Himalayas, to India and Nepal, to the Pokhara Lake and Kathmandu. He flew again. But not alone, she was by her side. They fell together. For the first time, he felt love. But he never said. Maybe he did not know.

Time passed and they missed each other. Crossroads, u-turns, and no outlets. He could still see her sat on the white leather armchair. White leather armchair that moved once, twice, thrice. White leather armchair that embraced other people. White leather armchair that made him forget. White leather armchair that went away, forever.

But forevers are not, and one day, when he had already said goodbye, the white leather armchair was back in the corner of a small bedroom in a small house, his. And every night, before falling sleep, he closed his eyes and wished she was there, sat on the empty white leather armchair...

written words

- It was what you wrote...

Her words crossed her heart like two hundred and thirty seven pins. Heart beat. Bloody geysers. Then the flood. Diving in a red that fades to find himself surrounded by all those things he thought he knew. He did not. He did now.

All those written words arose from within. Some of them from his heart. Some of them not. He had been using himself to fight his fear. His fear for love. The one he once found. The only one which would never go away. Forever seems always too long. It is not. But it does not come alone. Splashed with insecurities. He finally understood the wrinkles in his stomach. It was her. Just her. Written words hurt. They do because of their shade. Some are getaways. Get away from those. Some are not. Those are the ones. Smiling heart.

Only then he compelled himself to breath before writing. Inhale. Exhale. He could not take it anymore.

- I am sorry, and I am afraid...

Writing not as a getaway. Writing as a way to a source eight minutes and thirty one seconds away. Time machines and randomness. He did not need his written words anymore to justify himself. He was happy. Ready to be weak. And to melt.