Restless

He feels the cold creeping up at the same time as that heat wave that follows, confusing his senses and exciting his every nerve. Here comes a feeling he thought he had forgotten. Staring around the room, then down at his hands… he still cannot figure out how, when or why this happened. Does it matter, even? No, of course it doesn’t.

Because how can you describe the feeling of pure happiness to someone who never even felt it? How can you expect someone to understand, when they’ve never even gotten a glance at her world? How would anyone ever know what it feels like to see her most honest smile competing with the moon, when she shows it so selectively?

Because what fool would have stopped to look at the time, ask for directions or keep track of time? Because when do you go from glad to happy and from happiness to euphoria? When does the sun start rising and setting because of her, her eyes, her touch, her laughter, her embrace?

Because why would you question happiness when it has finally found your way? Why would you ever stop to think of love, instead of loving? Why would you find a reason for what has happened, when you still can feel it happening?

No, of course it doesn’t matter, because all that matters is that it did, it happened… she happened.

And now here you are, rising a glance towards the door and finding her there, smiling shyly at you, half hidden behind the door. Without even realizing, you are standing with her; she is now in your arms, curling up and keeping you close. You grasp her as tight as you can and you know: no matter how, when, why or even what, you don’t need any questions, for the answer to them all will always be the same.

-         “I love you”, she breathes, and suddenly that is all that matters. 

...cuerdas

- "No lo olvides: eres mía."

Sus palabras resuenan aún junto al eco de esa canción que os ensordecía a las 23:46 exactas, preciso instante que duró un suspiro y cuatro latidos retumbando en tus orejas. Momento en el cual supiste que ya no había vuelta atrás, soplo de tiempo en el cual sentiste pánico, terror, espanto y ganas de salir corriendo: eres suya, estás en sus brazos y entrelazada en las mil cuerdas de este juego de dulce tortura que te captiva tanto como te espanta.

 

...pero sabes tan bien como él que en esa brizna de espacio no sentiste más terror de lo que te regozaste en serenidad, valentía y... sí, tranquilidad. Juego de dulce ternura, incluso.

 

Eres suya, te regodeas en sus pensamientos y eres la primera en su lista de deseos. No sientes peligro sobre su cuerda floja, y sus ataduras no son más que un juego. Un juego que ambos conocéis pero él controla, dejándote a merced de su idea de a quién le toca ganar; nunca revelando resultados hasta el final, pero recordándote a cada instante dónde estás y quién eres; de quién eres y por qué.

 

No te deja escapar de ti misma, y se hunde en cada fibra de tu ser, a la vez que tú hundes tus uñas en su espalda y los dientes en su cuello, tratando de plasmar tus mil y una cicatrices en el lienzo que es su piel. No hay semejanzas que contar entre vosotros, y a la vez no imaginas a nadie más simétrico. No existen desarrollos más perfectos a esos proyectos aún en progreso de los cuales te rodeas a cada paso.

 

Sus palabras resuenan en cada hebra, cada fiamento, cada brizna de lo que eres, creando ese eco a cuyo son ya no haces más que bailar, pensando en la ironía de dejarte enjaular cuando en ningún momento has dejado de volar.

...the window

You sit, staring out the window, wondering where she is, when she'll be back. Cup number three turned from Irish to black by the side of a bottle that is almost as empty as your soul when she's not close.

Colors of the rainbow paint the sky but drain your face, flooding your facets with grey, exactly the same shade of her sweater the last time she left you. And yet again she's not here. Not yet.

Wondering where she went this time you make your way to the bottom of the bottle, drowning the last hope of again finding her scratching on your back door.

You sit there, looking at the clock, the clock staring right back at you. As it shakes its head you take down the last coffee. 3 sugars: life is already bitter enough.

And as all hope has abandoned every fiber, you now stand, still staing out the window, suddenly smiling because you no longer have to wonder where she is, or when she'll be back.

...Cernuda

If I do not know you, I have not lived.

If I die without knowing you, I do not die,

for I have not lived.

...college

 

Deciding to study at college was one of the greatest decisions of my life. I am now two semesters in my Bachelor’s degree, passed everything, and only felt like giving up and becoming a nomad ukulele-player twice. Maybe three-four (okay: more) times. So I guess you can say everything is going pretty good and to plan: I am well on my way.

 

College/University is an amazing place. The amount of different people you meet there is breathtaking, the atmosphere is awesome, and the surroundings are usually stunning. It is the true house of knowledge, a museum of wisdom; and there is no doubt that there is plenty of both: us freshmen bring little in, and graduates don’t really take any with them… so it just kind of accumulates there.

 

Though being keeper of so many years of knowledge, university often resembles a location overflowing with charlatans, who simply will be able to talk about their unemployment with a little more authority than the rest. Seriously, never underestimate this skill: if you are unemployed and never attended college, it’s on you; if you are a graduate and equally unemployed, it is society’s fault. See how awesome that is?  

 

These graduates are, of course, also possessors of the amazing ability to change any subject. At any time. In any conversation. Don’t believe me? They just have to relate the desired topic they wish to change to their college major. Because let’s be honest: who wants to hear about the importance of differential equations in mining engineering? Exactly: not even mining-engineers. In my case I simply have to mention this AMAZING book which explains all the exceptions mentioned in English Grammar. Believe me, I never even get to exception 3.

 

These are only a few of the skills I plan on learning/taking with me when leaving college… the list also includes being able to eat pretty much everything; being equally able to drink anything (without making a face: get your shit together); surviving on little sleep and cheap coffee …and of course knowing how to fix the world’s problems.

 

As amazing and truly helpful as most of these skills are, some days I still get fed up (who doesn’t?). I’ll say it’s nice to know that if it ever were to get too hard, I can always quit and become a ukulele-player. The only thing really stopping me is that I don’t actually know how to play it. Even so, it’s comforting (and very scary) that the noise people with a college degree and me (with my ukulele) can make resemble each other only too much: white, rather disturbing and un-understandable background rubble, which people simply wish to get away from until you get some practice and experience.

 

College is awesome, but I really don’t expect it to prepare me for the “real world”. No one should.




Translated:

Estudiar en la universidad ha sido una de las mejores decisiones de mi vida. Acabo de terminar mi segundo semestre, he aprobado todo, y solo he tenido ganas de rendirme y volverme ukelelista nómada dos veces. Quizás tres-cuatro (vale : más veces). Así que creo que puedo decir que todo va bastante bien y de acuerdo con el plan : voy bien encaminada.

 

La universidad es un lugar increíble. La cantidad de gente diferente a la que conocerás es abismal, la atmósfera es genial y el ambiente es realmente impresionante. Es el verdadero hogar del saber, un museo de sabiduría ; y no hay duda de que hay vastas cantidades : los que llegan no traen mucho, los que se van no se llevan nada… así que básicamente se va acumulando.

 

A pesar de ser guardiana de tantos años de saber, la universidad a menudo no resembla más que un lugar rebosante de charlatanes, que simplemente podrás hablar de su desempleo con algo más de autoridad que el resto. En serio : nunca subestimes el poder de esta habilidad : si eres desempleado, pero nunca fuiste a la universidad : culpa tuya ; si eres poseedor de tu grado y te ves en la misma situación, la culpa es de la sociedad. Véis la genialidad ?

 

Aquellos graduados están, por supuesto, también en posesión de la igualmente impresionante habilidad de cambiar cuelquier tema de conversación. En cualquier momento. En cualquier conversación. Que no ? Simplemente tienen que relacionar el tema a cambiar con sus estudios. Porque seamos sinceros : quién quiere oír más acerca de la importancia de las ecuaciones diferenciales en ingeniería de minas ? Exacto : ni siquiera los ingenieros de minas. En mi caso simplemente tengo que mencionar « este libro IMPRESIONANTE que explica todas las excepciones mencionadas en gramática inglesa ». Creedme : nunca llego siquiera a la excepción 3.

 

Estas son sólo unas de las pocas habilidades que planeo aprender/llevarme conmigo de la universidad… la lista también incluye ser capaz de comer prácticamente cualquier cosa ; ser capaz de beber prácticamentecualquier cosa (sin poner caras : contrólate) ; sobrevivir a base de poco sueño y café barato …y por supuesto saber cómo arreglar los problemas del mundo.

 

Tan impresionantes y realmente servibles como son estas destrezas, aún así algunos días me harto (quién no ?). Diría que es bastante agradable saber que si alguna vez se vuelve todo demasiado duro, siempre puedo rendirme y hacerme ukelelista. Lo único que realmente me lo impide ahora mismo es que no sé tocar el ukelele. Aún así, es reconfortante (y bastante acojonante) que el ruido que pueda hacer un universitario graduado y el que pueda hacer yo (con mi ukelele) se parezcan tanto : un sonido de fondo, desagradable e incomprensible, del cual la gente sólo quiere alejarse hasta que consigues algo de práctica y experiencia.

 

La universidad es genial, pero de verdad que no espero que me prepare para el « mundo real ». Nadie debería.

...US (translation 24/02/13)

" Write us”, you said. Write US. Not about us. Not about what we did. Not about who we were. Not about who we weren’t.

 

WRITE US. With capital letters, nice and clear. With power but in a whisper, leaving in me a mark that will not be filled but with the perfect imperfection of you and me, reflected on the four blank pages I still have in front of me, the same way we reflected on the four walls of that room that became infinite just because we loved each other. That room that deserves a name and surname for being witness of the most honest passion to ever walk this peace of strayed rock.

 

And I ask “why write US?”

 

Because when we love each other even the brightest star cannot compete with us, and when we scream not even the death of the largest supernova leaves us in the background. Because without looking we always find each other one last time under the covers, and at the simple touch of a cheek against the sheets we forget everything else, exhaling promises that will evaporate along with the sweat of nights filled with lies.

 

Because when we walk under the sun only the stupid looks at the sky, and only the crazy dares to question our interlaced fingers.

 

Because no one understood us. Ever. And because we never bothered to be like anyone. We never deeded to. Because there is nothing broken without a snag. Because our story is longer and so much faster than your music; and without thinking about it I would again take off my shoes, and you out to dance, until our feet bled and the world was completely against us.

 

Because we were never anything and at the same time everything. Because your navel knows more secrets than any brothel, and the running mascara of my cheeks sings the truth only to you, letting us again through ourselves into streams of stories that will be badly judged by inexpert eyes and frustrated hearts. Because we never drown.

 

Because missing US is the only thing that can be done, and trying to understand us is nothing but a desperate attempt to define us, which we never ended by never starting it. Because to miss US was inevitable when I left you, but even more it was to love US more with every step I took. Because now I know that I can, but don’t want to, live without you. Because I know that you neither. Because needles with nothing to knit are still needles, but the winter that I live without you passes faster with a scarf.

 

Because the only thing we did wrong was to find lies and specifications where there were none, unfairly judging a flower by its ability to survive in the frost. Because little by little we learned, demonstrating how true it is that you learn from experience and dreams that break when forced.

 

And I keep wondering why write US, when the only thing I want you to do is to pack your bags and keep on letting me travel this world by your side, recollecting stories that another wretch, who is actually good at it, will put into words in a sad attempt of life in little-believable memoirs and un-understandable feelings. Because we now that living from memories is not US.

...two

Two knocks and my legs begin to tremble. I look up and slide across the floor and towards you in anticipation. Only two inches of a door between us and I am melting, longing for you. Two seconds and you will be in here, with me, all over me and all around me. Undressing me with your eyes and heating me up with your breath. Keeping the promises you made and making me want so many more. I even know the two words that will come out of my mouth, making me feel everything not twice, but two million times. The mere thought of you crossing that door makes my heart skip a beat, my skin shiver and my shields fall apart, bit by bit.

 

Two breaths become a second, and time turns into a never passing entity that lasts an eternity. I know you’re there, you know I’m here. I hear you sigh and place your forehead on the hard wood, defeated at once. You know I won’t open, and I know two knocks were more than I could expect. As much as I want your eyes exploring me and your hands collecting evidence, the next two hours would never be two thoughts worth, but rather every thought wasted.

 

Two minds race away, but we stay in silence. I slide down the wall and hear you do the same. I place my hand on the wood and know you are doing the same. My two sides curse and thank that door for existing, for without it our two hands would become one, and as would we. Sitting in silence we can’t help but wonder what happened, how it all shattered into not two, but a thousand pieces. For we were seeking for the same thing. For we were lost and found each other. Then what went so wrong?

 

It never went wrong, it never shattered and it never hurt. It just didn’t even take off… for it is not the two words that make and order we want, but the three words that express a feeling we need to listen for. For “Love me” is not what we wish to hear. For saying “I love you” is not what we want to do.

 

For we expected a world in pairs and never thought you and I could be split up by love.