Writing
"Too often we write one sentence too soon and then another one too late; what we have to do is write it at the right time, otherwise it gets lost."
–Thomas Bernhard
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It was Sunday
When I get home, I think about the object I chose for my enjoyment, even though the battery has been dead for a while; I haven't even used it for three days since I bought it. Sexuality and self-exploration are rituals I don't want to let fall into decline.
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Domesticated chance
There are also coaches out there selling spells to manifest abundance and make healthy financial decisions while you do sit-ups. However, behind that choreographed display of control, chance, with its ever-present smile, is waiting for you to slip up so it can turn your life upside down.
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COMPAÑ-IA
Scientists estimate that the end of the world will occur in about six to eight billion years, but by then humanity will have been extinct for about two to three billion years.
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Escarmiento
Me encontró refugiada debajo de un coche tras la tormenta. Lanzaba mordidas y rasguños a la mano que intentaba alimentarme. Me levantó del suelo con una cobija mientras yo, temblorosa, me deshacía en manotazos y zarpadas intentando proteger mis heridas del roce de la manta.
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It may rain
Every day, decide what to have for breakfast. Whether to shower before going out or wait until the evening. Pack lunch or buy something elsewhere. Exercising our free will in every decision, not just letting it be. Thinking about the many or few consequences of each "yes," each "no."
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If it's any use
And it's not that I need you every day or all the time, it's sometimes: when it's cold, when I'm alone, when I'm sad, when I have to go to faraway places and when I'm making plans for the future.
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Sortilege
I've always liked lying on my stomach with my right leg bent and pointing toward the wall. My bed is a soft rectangle about my size that has been tucked into the right corner of the room since childhood. There's no place in the world where I feel more unsafe.
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Wall
I'm untouchable now. No one can hurt me. After feeling so much, to feel nothing at all... it's strange. Don't buy me a drink. Don't dedicate songs to me. Don't write me poems or send me messages or flowers. I'm not interested. You're wasting your time.
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Urgency of dew
It must have been the light emanating from my insides at the center of the world, a form of dying unraveling through the fissure, soft, a bloody sweetness, a vulnerable strand of pollen lost in the wound. There, merciful descent to the core.
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The waters of oblivion
My entire skin resisted, with the aversion of someone who violates their nature, but I had no choice and I gathered my courage, because to reach my head it had to seep through every pore of my abandoned skin.
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I came to you
With the stories badly told, the maps badly folded, and the lights less bright. But I wanted to meet you, to taste you, to remove the blindfold that covered me, the prejudices that invaded me. The flirting began, I finally met you.
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Fall: fantasy and reality
A couple of days ago, while driving home, I thought that, for me, reality hit me for the first time when my father died. At that moment, on the ground of life, I didn't know what to do. Writing, then, couldn't protect me.
