Vacío.

You are empty:
An empty friend with empty love,
An empty head with empty words,
An empty human empty of empathy.

You are empty:
Empty is your vow, empty is your smile;
Empty is your trust, empty is your heart;
Empty is your way of doing things right.

You are empty:
Emptiness in your beliefs,
Emptiness in your relationships,
Emptiness in your whole life.

You are empty and you do not care.
Or you are empty and you are okay with that.
Or you are empty and you will never change.
But you are empty and I should have known.

And maybe I am empty as well.

Diamante

Girl

Watch me

Watch my hands

Draw a line between us

I know you even when I don’t

I have always been a part of your life

Can you feel my mouth on your cheek now?

I feel your happiness, your sadness and your loss

Let me see your heart, wither your pain, ease your sorrow

You’re very special; I’m not special enough for you

Kiss me over and over a thousand of times

Feed your soul, feel the breeze

You won’t be harmed

Leave me here

For now
~

When it is all over we still have to clear up

I wish you would see the light
Before the day turns into night.
I wish you would submerge into the river
Before our memories start to shiver.
And when it is all over we still have to clear up.

I am afraid of the dusty robber
Who ran away on the cold October.
I am afraid of that nasty laughter
When someone steals your ever after.
And when it is all over we still have to clear up.

I ask you to use your brain,
But seems like it has been slain.
I ask her to make things right,
But she just want to see you bright.
And when it is all over we still have to clear up.

I do not know who is wrong here,
Though I do know you feel the fear.
I do not know when it will end,
Though I do know who is not my friend.
And when it is all over we still have to clear up.

I feel the steel against my skin,
And I can not find a place to lean.
I feel the tray offering your head,
And I see the bastards full of dread.
And when it is all over we still have to clear up.

I forget the sound of your rough song,
Sang by the dead ones for so long.
I forget to ask you where you went,
Or where is that letter you never sent.
And when it is all over we still have to clear up.

I do not care if you are not mine.
As long as you tell me you are fine.
I do not care to be betrayed,
As long as I know what you have made.
And when it is all over we still have to clear up.

I understand the changes in you,
Perhaps the time will change me too.
I understand the lies you tell,
Perhaps the truth in you still dwell.
And when it is all over we still have to clear up.

And I wish, but I am afraid;
And I ask, but I do not know;
And I feel, but I forget;
And I do not care, but I understand;
That when it is all over we still have to clear up.

In between

I am forever between landmarks and days full of luck,
and missing my chances to just give it up.
I am forever between thoughts, a fight and a rove;
the hope I once had in you now flees like a dove.

Between knives I am dancing, in dead trees I hide;
in libraries I am diving as I turn back around.

I am forever between comparisons of future and past,
ignoring the fact that you will not back me up.
I am forever between cities, a push and a shove;
the letters of my old friends and re-joy and love.

Between cameras I am frowning, and train seats I am down;
in car parks I am sighing as I turn back around.

Tiempos a destiempo.

Recordar la infancia me resulta una acción agridulce. Los niños tienen una percepción del tiempo efímera y frágil, una manera de medir los momentos que los adultos parecen perder casi por descuido; es por eso que no pueden hacer otra cosa más que envidiarla. ¡Cómo quisiera uno volver a los primeros años de vida, donde los días son eternos, las semanas interminables, un mes es casi un siglo y un año no termina nunca! Donde el espacio es algo estático que día a día se mantiene intacto y así será para siempre, donde es el tiempo el que avanza. A veces rememoro momentos del pasado y me parece que mi infancia duró el doble; ver que todas esas cosas que tan nítidas y separadas las unas de las otras permanecen en mi mente corresponden en realidad a un periodo de tiempo muy breve me descoloca constantemente.
Es que el tiempo, a diferencia del espacio, no existe de manera material, no existe más que en mediciones y en los propios efectos que genera en el mundo y en quienes lo habitan. Uno puede contar su paso en segundo, minutos y horas... pero, ¿cuánto duran éstos? Hay minutos de media hora, horas que son un segundo, instantes que se infinitizan y eternidades que no duran nada. Hay tiempos sólidos, que no transcurren o que lo hacen lentamente; hay tiempos elásticos que se estiran hasta el doble de su capacidad e incluso hay tiempos muertos y vacíos que nadie sabe cómo han dejado de ser. Hay ocasiones en que el tiempo que se vuelve espacio y como espacio se vuelve insoportable por su inmovilidad. Está el tiempo que se detiene y que al hacerlo pone en movilidad al espacio, un espacio que toma la posta y se despliega raudo o pausado. Un tiempo liquido que discurre y un tiempo liquidado que se desvanece. El tiempo que chorrea intempestivo y el tiempo que resbala eternamente. Tiempos, espacios, mediciones.
Es interesante intentar cambiar de percepción, adaptar el tiempo a nuestro ritmo y que no sea al revés. Ponerle pausa al mundo acelerado en el que vivimos y hacer que, por una vez, el reloj nos favorezca; volver a la infancia, donde un año eran trescientos sesenta y cinco mil millones de recuerdos y no solo un puñado de "dejar para mañana lo que no llego a hacer hoy".
La inmortalidad existe: sólo se trata de saber cómo mirar el mundo, cómo mover el espacio y cómo detener el tiempo.