Tag Archives: mind

Where are my lines?

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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.

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The real world

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One of my great dislikes is to see how my writings show me as a negative, cloudy sky person; but I can’t help it, words are my only scape when it comes to on-the-edge feelings. I tend to feel things so dramatically, and here I go again…

It is really strange that no one I know feels the way I do, about loyalty, about cruelty, about a life companion, and about many other things… It seems like only fiction matches my personality. I must admit that I have even researched for a syndrome that might describe me; but none have completely matched.

Despite that I’m not so young, my life has been sheltered in a way, having experienced this cozy and chaotic world that is mainly composed by my family, and no other permanent relationships. Much too comfortable with myself and much too incompatible with everyone around me.

I should have known when my mother heard me cry when I was still in the womb -only if I could remember-. Someone should have suspected something when I was born with one incisor tooth. It must have given me a clue when I would turn soviet red because I was asked to give a reading demonstration in preschool.  I should have known it when I was the only one feeling bad about my classmates teasing a child who wore glasses, and not joining them on their so child-like evil teasing. I should have known when people’s eyes spoke to me and made sense the way their words hardly ever did.

Who’s to know if genes or circumstances made me the way I am?; both things perhaps. I was born strange. I didn’t know, I just felt an itch inside me, somewhere close to my soul. Knowledge has come to me little by little through my life.

More than a couple of decades have passed, and in the core, I’m still the same kid. Do we ever truly change? My worries have changed, my hormones have woken up, my responsibilities have increased, my disappointments have piled up, but I’m still the same.

I’ve gotten more in touch with the real world the present year than I have ever been before. When I was this shy, smart, bright-eyed and inquisitive kid, I used to feel there was something dangerous about letting myself out of my own mind, about trusting others… I was right.

I’ve figured, I insist so much in not letting myself trust, because in fact I trust as easily as my heart bruises.

There is something about the work environment… People turn into back-stabbers when their monthly income is involved.

And there is something else about love and sex too… People turn into… people, when their physical pleasure or the utopia of true love are at stake.

Some things that happen, I still can’t believe. My poor thoughts-right-out-of-my-mind filter hasn’t helped at all. The fact that I look 5 years younger than I am, reflects exactly my insides.

People with kind words and toothy smiles can hide so huge lies. People say words they do not mean. People do low things to feel above you at work. People bid farewell in the most easy and cruel way, not caring if half your heart is with them. People are capable of stealing with little or no charge of conscience.

The real world kind of sucks, but bring it on.

The bus stop

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Her mind was racing. She used to see him there, sitting down calmly while talking on his cellphone; always wearing a brown fedora and occasionally caressing its side as if the tactile connection was necessary to keep him in this world, at this moment.

A pair of tired feet guided her to the familiar bus stop, a three button blue coat keeping her warm, and her heart beating slightly faster than normal… He was there, and again, they shared a glance. One throat swallowed making an audible sound, and it echoed to the place and time the writer of the story is currently at.

It was a cold late afternoon, one of those who remind you of recycled paper instead of orange and pink cotton candy. The tiny roof was leaking rain drops that accumulated up there not too long ago, and as they fell down they were serving as part of the soundtrack of silence clashing against the carved concrete tiles, along with the noisy engines kept inside the multicolored passenger vehicles.

One minute, seven months, or an eternity went by. Making her way through the crowd, a last bus of the line 27 was taken by her. He left right after that.

And it was not because he waited for her every day, it was not to see her come and to watch her go. It was not because he was struggling for courage to start a conversation with her. It was not for a certainty, that was only building inside her… No. The trip back home took him there every day, at the same hour as hers, and he had a bus to take.

And time, eventually, said it best.

Sewing machine

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I want a sewing machine. Thus, for materializing dreams of fabric and building them the way I want them to be. To avoid looking at the sky, wishing upon a star. To make things real or make it seem like they are.

Marvelous it is, to learn the art of creating something that can be worn with pride, appreciated and even paid for… like a love received with reciprocal feeling and eternal tear-surpassing smiles. You can even fix what appears to be a little torn… like broken hearts revive at certain new dawns.

There is no room for coward excuses, or misleading signals, when things as this lay in front of you: rolled wool sheets, paper patterns, scissors and thread.

Peace may come between your mind and your heart while you sew. Hands busy, imagination and intellect working shoulder to shoulder. A verse chanted many winters ago, that has been traveling the world, sleeping on park benches and drinking rain drops, collapses completely at the sound of the needle moving up and down.

Being my wish more vain than the way I portrayed it, I must add a finishing line: Everything is valid in love and… when you write.

The thought out loud

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Whether by ink and paper or keyboard and pixels, writing is a thought represented out loud, where invisible senses are the voice that talks, and physical senses are the ear that listens. The soul that accompanies the ear is left to interpret and feel.

Cathartic it is, writing. The voice can be soft or hard, sad or happy, wise or dumb.

Sometimes the voice recalls dark deep places that leave room for the storm to blow, for the tear to roll down the cheek, and for the fear to break and to defeat.

Other times the voice gushes fountains of joy, wanting to share with the world the magic that it has known, the blessing of a moment that makes everything feel like the universe conspires to give you exactly what you want, matching exactly with what you need, even when it was unknown to your dormant self.

As usual, my words are subtle and disguised. The second case stands today.

Mostly, I’ve been the only ear to my own voice, for shy private precious thoughts… not bad at all, a whisper in the air is liberated from the pressure of the enclosure of the mind, of the heart.

Recently, the ears have been multiplied, and even if some words will forever remain for me or for other person in specific, it has been nice to share a bit of myself… I’m liking the blog.