Partirse, desvanecerse y volver... ¿Cuántas veces he de hallarme descubierta? Desnuda por otros que ni siquiera lo notan y, sin más, voltean sus huellas. 

He de saberme en profundidades, rasgaduras y analogías erróneas hasta quien sepa cómo zafarme y liberarse en mí. Hallarse, atarse de la manera más liberadora.

 Quizá me han encontrado y no dejo atraparme, quizá me buscan y yo, ciega de sueños, no logro encontrarme.

Quizá, quizá...

  No, no en realidad. No hablo de inutilerías, de mandatos sociales. Ni siquiera hablo de contemporaneidades.

 No compongo certezas moldeables, soy aunque nada más lo sea. Ese ha de ser el peor método de búsqueda: sin esperanza, reconociéndose aguardando fantasías inexcusables, legítimas, realizables solo en sueños de siglos pasados, desfasados de actualidad, de lo que los demás pareciesen ser. 

  Y, sin embargo, tan presentes, tan irrenunciables. 

Que no han habido tantos, ni siquiera uno. 
Que no preocupa, pero atrapa en la idea de permanencia

de soledad

de estar atrapada

en mí

frustrada

I've never needed anyone. I don't know if anyone does, indeed. But what I do know -and what you should have known by then- is that I cannot let myself not being what I really feel I am just to please you. I just ... No. I've learned to embrace this loneliness as the closest friend I could possibly have, because it knows me better than anybody and if I don't want to be that closed to it for a moment or two, it depends on me and only me to step aside and be with whom I want to. One of the things I hate the most about myself is my innability to express without using 'I'. I think that is selfish, but it is also selfish of you ('you' meaning anyone) to expect me to be the friend/girlfriend  you've always wanted. If I'm not, you can go. Move on. As if never happened. Some peeps seems to be very fond of complicated things and search for them in every path they choose. Not me. I spend my days doing what you may call 'nothing'. I call it 'me' time. Well, it's MY time, isn't it? Anyway, I love writing (I recommend you to not judge me because of this text, which is probably one of the worst I've ever written and I'm not trying to prove a point, I am just letting my fingers guide me) and reading. I read A LOT. I know a lot, also. Some people nowadays think is rude to say when you are good at something. I think the opposite, I think we should let behind that false modesty and accept ourselves for who we are. I have a very wide vocabulary since I've always been closed to books and dictionaries. A very nice spelling, too. Am I too bad for saying it? I've been dancing Flamenco since I was 3. At school I was always the student with better marks and the one who was chosen to play the lead role at any presentation we had. I wasn't a bad person. I am not one now either. Actually, I've always helped those classmates who were bullied, because those stereotypes and characterisations have always been a pain in the neck to me. That's what I'm up to tonight. I've found myself hating on a few people who used to be friends of mine because I realised that our 'friendship' was never real. I mean, they were my friends, buy apparently, I wasn't theirs. I cannot say it wasn't my fault because probably it was. You never know. Okay, I missed the point.

My 'aim' with this was trying to express how bored I find myself in my current little world. In this whole society. I'm lost. I don't drink, don't smoke, don't go to parties (well yes, I've went to one or two in the past  two years, but they are not my thing) and the things I actually like seem to be very boring to my 'friends'. There is my loneliness that I wear on my sleeve everyday. I love laughing, I laugh at anything. And I talk very loudly. But sometimes you need to do certain things to fill some holes, right? That moment is when I find myself alone. At least for now, 'cause I haven't found yet a person who enjoys doing the same stuff as me and not only as a pastime. I lurve crosswords too. And playing chess. And painting. Drawing. Dancing. Talking to my dog. I love movies, but not GOING TO the movies. I think it's a waste of money. Unless we were talking about Harry Potter. In that case, I would go anywhere (but it's over, let's cry.) I love Audrey Hepburn, Dianna Agron. I love that classy style. Dresses, skirts, letters and letters. Any antique. Those little metallic boxes in which used to be chocolates. The 70's era. 

I don't  want to sound ungrateful. I do have very good friends, rabbit, dog. My career makes me happy. I have very good marks. But when I want to do those things, I wish I could have a person near me to do then with me, someone who feels them as important as I do. Then I will be extremely over the moon, having all I could ask by now. 

You don't need people. But you do like the company, right? xx

 C.

Your handwriting. The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose. It’s all giving you away. Everything you do shows your hand. Everything is a self portrait. 

Everything is a diary.

Chuck Palahniuk 

Que no puede cegarte demasiado

para olvidarte de ti.

Que muy pronto,

que muy tarde.

¿Y los quizá tan bien aprovechados vendrán a mí con más promesas que el riesgo?

¿Vendrán acaso disfrazados de abrazos, de utopías, de sinsabores?

Para vernos, para oírnos, para sabernos más allá del empolvado empaque civilmente obligatorio.

Volar en miradas y estallar en viento consumido en risas, de dulce pobreza e incertidumbre, desnudos de nosotros mismos

con los latidos en las sonrisas.

Para amarse y que todos sepan, que nadie lo sepa.

Que se vea, transparente, que queme como vela para que siempre se pueda volver a encender y brille con soltura.

Y apagarse de viento consumido en risas.

Salir y perderse en las trivialidades mercantiles sea,

quizá, el mejor remedio post mórtem.

Me plasmo en textos circunscritos a recuerdos, en una codependencia fantástica, como si las palabras cobrasen vida y pudiera hallarlas frente a mí y saber qué sienten al ser representadas.

(Las palabras tienen demasiada carga)

Empuño la mano, rozo el codo, afilo mis dientes, muerdo conjeturas, y ahí es donde todo parece concordar en sutilísimos enlaces de ideas desbaratadas e incomprensibles, sosegadas por el hecho de saberme en soliloquios, que supuestos conceptuales intentarían descifrar, con certeza científica, mas sin la emotividad necesaria para distinguir en qué punto dejé que mis palabras carcomieran mis deseos y, hallábame en piloto automático traspasando caracteres que sólo entendería un par de clicks después.

Para escribir con gracia hay que ser prisioneros.

{+ o no tengo gracia o soy presa del miedo}.

Circunvalaciones rutinarias

No recuerdo la pregunta capciosa que olvidé, si me tomé el té de la mañana o se enfrió. Ni siquiera recuerdo cómo llegué a esto, pero sí: recuerdo que te vi, me viste. ..Y caí en ese profundo vaivén de ires y venires donde lo primordial pasa a ser punto aparte.

Abreviatura (cómo ser feliz siendo feliz)

Que dirijo mis pasos hacia el mismo eje incorrompible de la conciencia: nada pasa por azar.
Logré transparentar obscenidades literarias, rompí diálogos esquematizados, monológicamente cronometrados.
Conocí el amor, la muerte, pero aún rechazo abiertamente el perdón como el rencor. No está permitido perdonar, pues nunca es necesario- y útil, considero- disculparse ni esperar disculpas.Sólo olvídalo, olvídate.Si ya está hecho, move on. Es más fácil nunca enojarse.

He abierto los ojos y nunca

nunca más quiero cerrarlos.

Las cosas que amamos carecen de lenguaje.

Desaparecen como si nada; numerarlas es un acto sin sentido.

No hay propósito.

Sólo una serie de acontecimientos que suceden

y se suceden.

“Las palabras apenas sirven para decir aquello que se ve y no aquello de lo que se habla”

Federico Schopf.