Tag Archives: good

Where are my lines?

Standard

My lines have gone to a wild land that I do not know. No one does. They have been gone for months, for a lifetime.

Those words that hug each other forming multicolor lines that have hidden under the velvet flower vase, inside the brown treasure box, and beside the imperfectly peeled oranges.

The lines have crossed my face instead of my fingers, in a period of time where growing up was not an option. Though, stubborn child I still am, with a wronged soft heart and a sharp mouth. A child that could never adapt quite well, no matter where. A child who does not understand life and all it takes. A child that feels too much for her own sake.

They -my lines- have gone to find what they know I am still looking for. It fails to come to me to finally figure out if it exists at all. Oh, lines! You are in my mind, across my heart, sailing away. Away, somewhere, away, disguised as prayers made of light and inaudible songs. You have kept away while I selfishly calm down my heart, treat it well, keep the doubts at bay.

Cursed be the wait and the bad earthly faith that touches the great souls that only good deserve.

Advertisements

Clock

Standard

Life is very good right now. Life could be better though.

New experiences and new hopes have been born. But also some of the old; the secondary clock in my computer is still set on Amsterdam’s time.

The alarm goes off in the mornings, waking up is as difficult as ever, but there is so much to look forward during a working day.

Yet… I’m in love with love. Feelings imitate chameleons. What’s up? Move on, walk on, fight, grow. Keep hoping for the best, prepare for the worst.

Dearest ally and enemy, oh clock.

reloj-con-numeros-romanos-298x300

Here I am

Standard

One sentence brought it all back, waking it up from wherever it was fast asleep, waiting to die. The ache, the anger, the love.

One day made me forget it all. The sugarless drinks, his metallic smile, the errant eyes, the three dogs that lay on his lap.

Papers were torn. Hope was reborn. Gladness to have taken things slow. A relief in not fighting or forcing my heart anymore.

I changed a likeness topicality, for a full of love restrain. It is so hard to control all my senses, that yearn, wait, and don’t have.

My eyes, skin, ears, nose, mouth. Just one? No time for me, no active plans, just a spoken future that doesn’t begin to touch down.

Help me endure. Again, every morrow. Despite, and in decrease, of my neediness, explosiveness, corniness, childishness. Despite it all.

Tell me I am yours, only. Tell me you are mine. Tell me words are meant to become facts. Tell me forever has crossed your mind.

Here I am. Not minding temporary distance. Claiming for a window to the future that will let me see that everything will be fine.

Here I am. Knowing what I want. Sabotaging the good you bestow. Begging my doubt to be wrong; begging for you to shot it down.

Waterfall

Standard

It was a day very much like this days that take place between the worldwide celebrated Christmas and New Year. I’m not sure if the current days or the current feelings have let this words be.

My feet stumble on the steep hill, carried on by something like a promise of breeze in warm humid days. Such joy there is with the known laughs and voices around me, with the wild raspberries just waiting for brave agile hands that can manage the thorns and hold them hostage into mouths, with the bug bites scratching while looking at a horizon of velvety mountains and a clear blue sky.

My hands are firmly caressing the grass on the side of the hill. It’s a wonderful view, an unforgettable memory in the making, a thrill for the waterfall that I will soon get to see. But beyond all that, it’s so high. So high and the possible fall seems so endless… I have built a little bit of fear inside me, as if I were into a transparent elevator. Hold on to the plants’ roots people, and try not to look down.

There it is, before my one decade old eyes… Marvel gets mixed up with annoying sounds from other people, warning of not falling into the cold river course. Nature being herself, with herself. A virgin looking place with the power of turning every person into a conqueror of a new land in a new world. A place where piano songs are born and lovers’ sweet words are kept safe for eternity.

It’s time to go back and the water won’t stop falling until the day I will return, even if it is what it seems as we go further and further away and the water’s songs can’t reach my ears anymore. The same path must be followed on the contrary direction. The hill shrank to a shorter height and the fall seems now to be impossible. Why is this? Does every experience have something to teach? Does every path become a part of us once we cross it for a first time? Does facing fear once make it get smaller each time? Do the good things always overshadow fear?

…Beautifully and not fearless, as the walk on the hill. Eventually and slowly, as the turning of a sunflower. Strong and delicate, as the waterfall.