Almost

I wonder if you think of me.
I don't expect you to miss me,
but do you remember me?

You have ruined the trees for me,
cause they whisper I could have climbed them with you.

I've got rid of your memories,
your bite mark, your aroma on my sheets,
the drawings I made for you, and the picture of your cat.
But my Sunday sunrises feel colder,
and I wonder... do you think of me?

I'm laying on the open all we did, the places we went,
the city with your name,
I hid your picture in a book I'll never read,
to purge my mind and body of your flavor.
And when I think I'm almost done,
a tree whispers, a whale sings, or a popcorn falls from my neck.

I want to remember with a smile,
that you could dance without music,
that you'll flip me around in any street corner
and you almost made me like cats. Almost.

I can't help but wonder,
did I made the same impression?
Did I leave a little mark?
Had I some sort of meaning in your life?

Maybe I didn't bite hard enough,
or scratch deep enough.
Maybe i was too familiar and comfortable.
We both knew I wouldn't last forever,
but it felt forever while it last.

Is there any color that will bring me to your mind?
An author or an animal? Any aroma, any song?

There are not regrets in the short term,
cause intensity was worth while.
No sadness on the risks, or the fall,
cause the thrill of the ride.

One thing will be remorseful though,
if I was not specific enough,
not vibrant enough for you to remember me for my details,
it'll mean you didn't know me at all,
and that will be my fault.

Epilogos

Nunca leo los prólogos, porque me gustan las sorpresas.
No leo recomendaciones, porque no quiero falsas expectativas.
Tampoco leo instrucciones, porque me gusta la adrenalina.

He sido cuentos cortos, poemas mediocres
y haikús tan abstractos que pecan de etereos.

He sido fruto de una imaginación constante y curiosa
Protagonista de comienzos y tramas sin desenlace.
Escritos por un autor sin constancia.
Comienzos y premisas mágicas que se disuelven en el primer capítulo.

Pero esta vez, la trama siguió
avanzó y tomó impulso.
Pensé que porfín la mano que escribía
había encontrado su rumbo.
Llegamos hasta el climax y luego...
se le agotaron las ideas, o la fuerza.

Hoy por primera vez, soy epílogo.
Debilmente pero explica que los personajes
cayeron en silencios que no se llenaron de caricias.
Que el héroe no pudo dejar su pasado,
y ella no tuvo el valor de esperarlo.
Que no hay moraleja, ni metáfora.
Que las historias simples son díficiles de escribir.

Y por fín entendí que aunque no me gusten, son necesarios.
Hoy, soy epílogo.

Clima

Viento, siempre me gusto el viento
porque se mueve, y me lleva
porque es vida y es cambio
porque juega con mi pelo y me despeina.

Nubes, siempre me gustaron las nubes
porque me distraen y me hacen caras,
porque me traen lluvia y gotas que lavan
porque me refresca y me empapa.

Sol, siempre me gusto el sol
porque me da energia y alegria
porque trae calor y esperanza,
porque cosquillea mi piel y me colorea.

Luna, siempre me gusto la luna
porque me contaba historias y fabulas,
porque cantaba canciones de cuna y susurraba,
porque iluminaba las noches oscuras y me abrazaba.

Cuando el viento sopla muy fuerte, y las nubes se vuelven oscuras,
cuando el sol se esconde y la luna es nueva,
el clima es contrario, las turbulencias atacan mi alma.
Entonces me queda la tierra cálida, la roca bajo mis plantas.
Entonces me quedan mis manos, mis pies y mis palabras
para pintarme y contarme historias, para inventarme nuevas fabulas,
para dibujarme nuevas sonrisas y trenzar mi pelo en nuevas marañas.
Porque no dependo del clima, ni del viento, ni las nubes,
ni siquiera del sol o la luna.
Porque un corazón, la tierra y mis sueños es todo lo que hace falta.

?

Don't ask the questions which answers you don't want to hear.
Don't ask the obvious, just don't ask.
There are answers that silence shouts.
To the obvious there is no remedy,
once spoken, it fades.
But which is better the uncertain but hopeful,
or the crude but real...
Vain hopes are delayed pains,
Curt truths are starting points. 
Give me reality, cause I can take it.
Give me solid, I will embellish.
Don't give me a dream, cause I will wake up sooner or later.

xx

Buenas noches, hasta mañana,

prometo no hacer ruido...

a ver si descansás

y el dolor se hace olvido.

Los ojos cerrados,

la respiración serena,

el gesto inmóvil,

la noche eterna.

Si te tocó, te despertarás?

y si... espero, aquí contigo?

No quiero recordarte así

en el rincón vacío.

La oscuridad, las escaleras,

el olor a paz forzada,

el silencio... el grito

la sangre helada,

el abrazo frío.

Esperanza insuficiente

que cicatriza y adormece.

Olvido no selectivo

que ataca y desvanece.

Impresiones y texturas

que se aferran a mi piel.

Un acorde, un arpegio,

una voz que siempre vuelve,

letras y cuerdas que dibujan tu figura.

Buenas noches, que descanses,

mañana cuando despiertes,

el dolor se habrá ido,

mañana cuando te recuerde

en el rincón que quedo vacío,

mañana cuando despierte

tu voz estará conmigo.

wrong

what do you do?

when the words you crave

are about to show in the wrong lips.

you've waited so long with a patient smile,

and now, you feel them coming,

you see them trying to scape and filter through the eyes,

the wrong eyes...

what do you do?

you can't run away,

cause the words call you...

but what if you stay...

and they pierce through your ears,

they slip to your tongue

and it's taste, it's taste is bitter

it's taste is wrong, simply wrong.

cuando los chanchos vuelen...

volverás.

cuando los chanchos vuelen,

volveré.

Si lo imposible se vuelve cotideano,

me verás;

si lo imposible se vuelve cercano,

te veré.

si te olvido pronto,

me amarás,

si me olvidas pronto,

te amaré.

Si el olvido es imposible,

también lo es el amor.

Si la rutina nos aleja,

talvez aprendamos a volar.

cuando los chanchos vuelen...

Me converti en actriz

el dia que la fe me enterro el dolor

donde no pude encontrarlo.

Con su aliento se desvanecieron

las lagrimas que debi llorar.

La realidad me encuentra sonriente,

indefectiblemente.

Las lagrimas se me perdieron,

junto con las penas, y los nuevos dolores

siguen el mismo camino...

luego por distraida se me olvida buscarlos.

Mi corto lapso de atencion,

no me permite concentrarme

en la tristeza y aunque a veces

amenaze detras de una sonrisa

y aparezca en el blanco de mis ojos,

se escabulle pronto y se vuelve a hundir.

Solamente aflora con las guitarras tristes,

algunos atardeceres y al respirar.

B

ballena - borrar - bye

J

jonás - joder - juego

C

comienzo - creer -cero

Celebrity Collage by MyHeritage

MyHeritage: Celebrity Collage - Vintage images - Free genealogy

multiple choice

Read and choose the correct answer:

Good boys like bad girls,

Good girls like bad boys.

A. broken-heart

B. become bad

Dialogo en el centro,

Caminata por Paris,

Cerveza en Berlin,

Demasiados cortos,

quiero un largo.

buena vida

Tuvo una buena vida,

amo y fue amada.

Lo conocio, y se dejo guiar.

Corrio la carrera, con fe y paciencia.

Sonrisas, lagrimas, abrazos y besos

para manos cansadas y ojos bellos,

caminos recorridos, futuros cortos pero plenos.

Rodeada de pilares

se desvanecio.

Su firma en las nubes y atardeceres.

Horizontes continuos,

etereos amores

flotantes esencias

rumores de risas, ecos de lagrimas,

y cicatrices de besos.

Buena vida,

suspiros,

la meta,

puntos suspensivos...

Clouds

I’m following the clouds” I told you announcing I was not coming back, that I’d like my vacations so much I was staying. You didn’t say anything, no complains, no grumbles, just a supportive smile and a promise. “I would not cut my hair until the clouds bring you back.” I could almost see your satisfied smile and I laughed – you always make me laugh. I agreed ‘cause you know how I love your hair, those deep black, unruly curls that invite me to play with them.

 

How many times did I request, begged, demanded, and pleaded you to let it grow long. Stubborn you never wanted.

 

“It’s not appropriate” – excuses.

“It requires time” – excuses.

“It won’t suit me” – excuses.

“I will look like Crusty” – excuses.

 

Two things I always asked and you never did: let your hair grow and be on time. Impossible. No matter what I said, “Girls will like it. I will like it. You’ll look sexier”; what I bribed, “I will make brownies” or threatened it didn’t work.

 

It took you 20 thousand kilometers to give in. Of course I didn’t think you were serious – you never are. Your promises are… let’s say variable. “I will be on time. I will let you drive.” It never happened.

 

Since after a year and a half, mails were scattered, no pictures sent, no even posted on Facebook, I didn’t expect you to have fulfilled your promise.

 

“I’m going back on July” I announced. “I will meet you at the clouds station” you answered.

 

When we met again, you seemed taller (is it possible that you keep growing?) and broader (have you been exercising lately?). I noticed a growing beard (that I didn’t request) and the same huge smile that I know so well.

 

Happy hugs to discover that your neat, polished pony tail hid a pompom of untamed black curls inviting me to play. “You did it!!” I shouted in unbelief and surprise. With the pride of a first grader showing his last drawing you let you hair free and massive black cotton locks spread upon your shoulders. My smile was wider than yours.

 

We had a great winter, and although we never made it to the saloon, I’d released you from your promise. I knew your mom didn’t like it, and our friends were giving you a hard time.

 

A year later – just two days ago – somebody posted a picture of you. Your eyes shinning with the usual scallywag look, the unsolicited beard, your smile and the longest, wildest mane!!

 

My first thought was “we’ll have to do something. You are about to graduate and that heavy metal guitar player look won’t help you find an engineer job.”

 

At that moment – surprisingly – you showed up, asking about my vacations, telling me you have only three more exams to graduation, you’ll soon be free and dropping casually that “there are some clouds going to Dallas on February”. “Oh my! Oh my!” I wrote frantically. You explained the plan… I was about to get started on the how to prepare for the visa interview – cause your Che Guevara look might not be helpful, my dear – but I decided to ask before lecturing you, “How long has it been since your last hair cut Fer?” (I am so glad you couldn’t listen to my tone.) “Hm… It’s been three years… since you left.” Speechless I melted. I couldn’t help but smile – you always make me smile.

 

We discussed hydrating products, brands and creams you can use – yeah, I know, weird. We agreed to we’ll go together to the hair stylist when you visit me… but I’d been thinking… I really, really want you to come and I would hate that a miscomprehension of those beloved curls would hundredth our plans.

 

So, I say, let’s play safe. I will be home for Christmas, we could go then to the hair dresser and cut it some. It won’t be compromising cause they would be long enough for me to play with, just shorter than now. Don’t give me a hard time now! Just trust me, ok? You’ll look fine, like a curly hipster. Girls will like it, I will too. Even the visa interviewer will love it. I promise!

 

In February, I’ll be the one waiting for you at the Cloud’s Station.

4th Grader´s Dixit

- Ms. Sanz, you don´t look like a rebel, you look like a Rockstar. (Jair, 10)

- Ms. Sanz, why do you drink Diet Coke, you are already skinny. (Anthony, 9)

- Ms. Sanz, you are 24 rigth? (Jorge, 10)
- Nooo, she is not that old. (Joanne, 9)

- Ms. Sanz, can you come with us to 5th Grade?? (smiling faces & hugs) Kevin & Carmen.

Corto

La vida a veces es como un corto;

no importa la duración, el desenlance o la continuación,

sino el sabor que te dejó en la boca. 

regla de 3 simple

"1, 2, 3"... the band starts playing

Dos son compañía, tres es multitud.

La 3era es la vencida,

no hay dos sin 3.

Cada dos x tres, 

pienso en vos.

A la una, a las dos, a las tres! ya!

La tercera cita...

tercero en discordia.

Tres los mosqueteros,

Tercero, el bronce.

1, nos vimos

2, espero

3, te toca.

If you give it a minute is gone... 

if you give it a minute is wrong.

...a second too long...

Ciudad en blanco

Los que alguna vez han escrito, saben el pavor que causa una pagina en blanco.

Cerra los ojos. Imaginate una ciudad, toda, toda en blanco.

Una ciudad sin esquinas de encuentro,

sin puntos de referencia, sin baches ni caidas.

Una ciudad con olor a celofán pero sin faroles ni cañadas.

Calles sin recuerdos, puertas con cara de nada,

como barrios vacios y arboles sin ruido.  

Una ciudad nuevecita, para estrenar;

sin significados, sin desencuentros y sin sabores ni amargos ni dulces.

Sin cafés para merendar, parques para matear, plazas para tomar sol. 

Sin rutinas, ni cine dominguero, sin decks para amanecer bailando,

sin callecitas para besarse, o peatonal para ir de la mano. 

No los abras todavia. 

Una ciudad, una ciudad en blanco, 

lista para colorear, adentro o fuera de la línea. 

Nueva, vacía para decorar. Para dibujar sonrisas en las fachadas,

canciones en las plazas. 

Y de a poco, despacito encontrar escondites donde reír,

rutinas por descubrir, gente que recordar. 

Nuevos sabores de café, pasos y alguna que otra vereda...

azoteas, balcones y una calle que compartir.

La ves? la noche es larga, dibujame la ciudad... 

Tape

Love is like a roll of tape, 

It's real good to make two things one, 

but just like tape,

sometimes it breaks up before you're done.

Flight of the Concords - Sellotape