To look inside a disgrace you don't need to look back. You only need to look forward. Sometimes when nobody else can come to help us, two paths lie infront of us.
You can take a way that only guide us to despair, guilt and blame.
And in the other hand, sorrow. But you don't have to misunderstood this one. This strong feeling can make us bound to each other, holding hands, and face destiny. Watching the above, simply knowing that God is between us.
Like a wise man used to say:
Everyone has faith in God though everyone does not know it. For everyone has faith in himself and that multiplied to the nth degree is God. The sum total of all that lives is God. We may not be God, but we are of God, even as a little drop of water is of the ocean.
Mohandas Gandhi

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If you're going to stay here forever I'm going to start to forget about going outside
Lost memories of a stuck traveler

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Las caras del tiempo son pocas para escribir. No obstante, es posible encontrar sobre su superficie el momento idóneo para empezar a relatar sucesos.
Un libro comienza por la portada, pero en su interior se halla lo que nos hará olvidar el primer rostro que observamos al tomar un nuevo tomo.
Las emociones se desencadenan en cada página, en cada párrafo. La piel se desgasta en cada palabra abierta con la memoria. Sin embargo, hay recuerdos que parecen empañar el aire que se impregna en las ventanas.
Uno de los sucesos más exitantes y menos obvios que recorren los escritos de siglos es la descripción de la propia muerte. Probablemente se deba a la poca voluntad que esgrimen las almas puritanas y que hablan sólo de cosas bellas a la vista y el olfato. Pero existen otras puertas, otros escenarios abiertos para aquellos que deseen penetrar las verdaderas entrañas de la tierra.
Al alba, el cigarrillo entre mis labios me ayuda a recordar la nostalgia olvidada. La lluvia gris y callejera me llama para decirme que en realidad estoy solo. Caminando, las preguntas me asaltan... ¿Recorro esta calle sólo porque sí o esta esquina es un doblez del destino? Este cosquilleo me parece... extraño. Es algo que... intuyo con sólo aspirar un poco de aire.
Los ecos de mi alma resuellan en pasos que se extienden como bestia herida.

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Only inside my walls you can live.
Once I let you get inside,
deep corredors open wide
And labirynth grows in every direction.
My eyes can not look inside.
You are a door,
You are a window open inside out,
Dark and light become stronger,
And once these two things pass through you,
You became an unborrowed question.
You are my native soil,
you became my only truth,
I only see through your eyes.
You said: "Moon is made of cheese"
I responded: "Yes, indeed"
You are the only solution to this maze,
but who wants to leave
if you're soul is the organic matter of this call?
I drag along the surface like a small lizard,
feeling every detail,
every crevice in those walls
that only belong to me.

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My love for you is so enormous that I lost interest in everything else.
-Lost memories of a stuck traveler-

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Last night I could saw myself walking in the neighborhood. Just my footsteps were resounding in thin air. I was just one block away from home. I was walking rapidly on a constant pace. Nevertheless, I was getting nowhere and I thought I would never arrive home by midnight. But I wasn't worry, I knew somehow I get home anyway. It was a sense of confidence, a feeling of centre.
But as I walked the block I noticed something. Nigth was becoming a shelter for my thoughts. Feelings just roll out of me in various forms and they brought me a gift far beyond crepuscular night. They brought me a gift of challenge, of peace and calm between sheets.
Sincerely, it was spectacular. Stars collide with my thoughts gaving birth a corposant. With that light I could saw my house. But what was inside made my vision wonderful. I saw my wife and my son.

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When I knew you were mine, I began to forget my entire sadness.
-Lost memories of a stuck traveler-

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Lust made you a brighter person. It gave you a weapon to disarm me, to postrate me, to chain me to your desire, to your hips. Instead I forgot my number, I forgot how to dwell with colors and names. The promise of one night at your lips made me a fool infront anyone else, but it didn't matter, I only wanted to be a prisioner, a shipwrecked sailor marooned in an isolated island. I only wanted your extreme call confined in my blood, I wanted the boiling water of my soul. Nothing could stop me. Nothing else matter.
Since those days you became a tyrant. It didn't concern you if I were in trouble following you trough the woods. It didn't matter to you if the desert made me suffer, and the sea produced me thirst and illness. Madness become our religion and the forgot realms of unknown made their path trough our window. The kings of old whipped me and you were happy.
But unfortunately for you, some else came from a different place. She put some love where you only put flesh. She gave me a gift when you only told me archaic secrets. She eased my soul, she made me rest under that tree. She finally completed me.
Now rivers talk to me in a totally different way. Winds come to salute me and the sea smiled at me under new stars. I don't miss you anymore.
Be gone with your demons, let me be.
I have a new life, a new perspective of things, a fireplace.
I let you go long ago.
Now you are free to ride those storms.

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Two pieces felt from the sky,
they just came to tell me that today,
I will sleep skindeep,
And I will use one stone to brake my fate,
that shallow and unfortunate star that glimpsed my birth.
Today the furious eye of beast will crash,
and the so called knowledge of man.
Today I will guide you into new paths,
new ways that our footsteps will make,
but not furtively,
only ours,
not divided,
but into ourselves.
Only two pieces came,
a relief and a ransom felt from the sky.

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I began to lost my soul when I lost your trail.
Lost memories of a stuck traveler

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Autumn came to my window this morning and knock twice. I wake up and opened the window. There she was fresh and simple, barenaked and shivering from dew. She was radiant and very optimistic. Her eyelashes winked with emotion because she couldn’t wait to tell me about all those little things that made life possible, those little miracles that move the heavy gears of nature. In other circumstances, if someone else told me about it, I probably would never believed it, but she told me only three little secrets that are responsible of these eternal movement that surround us. Rain brings a flow of green promises that travel from primal origin, and only those fields prepared for the harvest will be the recipients of these fragments of eternity. If some fields are not prepared for those gifts, destiny just will pass by. The most valuable secret of all is this: Every harvest, every seed, every flower, needs the hard work of a loving hand.
Then she smiled at me and took my breath, only to left a trail of multicolor leafs and a smell of unawakened joy.
I just stood there in expectation.

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Any healthy man can go without food for two days - but not without poetry.
Charles Baudelaire

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A few days ago a friend ask me:
-What is like being married?
I answered:
-Is an act of willing, of truth, of single beauty, of hope, and above all -obviously- of love.
-I mean, what makes you want to be married?
-Above all?
-Yes,
-Connection, belonging, meaning,
-But can you tell me just one reason?
-There is no just one reason, there are plenty. But you have to be sure about what you really want. If not, maybe being married is not for you. But that's no the end of the world. And you have to have something very important in your mind.
-And that is...
-Not to idealize your partner, because that's the first error everyone makes, sowing the probably end of that marriage.

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