Ni miedo, ni fe

I do not know how to live, what life is like or about, I do not know what is like to be me, How’s right to be me, and to be it now. I don’t know how much is too much, I don’t know what is like to be 29, I’m first time being, The things I’m supposed to do, The things I’m being imposed and should ignore, The things I should put more effort into. Cause nobody has taught me, nobody showed, Yet I can’t help to feel you’re all agreeing on something I’m somehow missing out. Why ain’t you guys doubting more? What answers do you have that I don’t? What on this earth does it mean to be an adult, What is love? Is it what I think? What if I’m wrong? Choosing is exhausting. Being up here in my head challenging every thought, In a duel against myself, thinking out of control, Is it all logic? What if it’s not, What if after pros and cons I just say no, These texts are not my gut, And I break every word, leaving myself feeling tiny and outgrown once more. What is it like to be a good friend more than...

Es como si de repente fallase la propiedad conmutativa, Como si le saliesen ruedas al carrito de la osa mayor, Un baño al fondo al izquierda, echar un pulso contra otro zurdo, Un miércoles festivo, la serie que no se completa, Círculo, cuadrado, triángulo, círculo, cuadrado, da igual, no cuadra, no debería estar ahí, no se encuentra en el syllabus, no aparece ni en los resúmenes ni en el temario, no se entiende, no te han enseñado a entenderlo. Pero está, el elefante en la habitación, el goteo del grifo, el cuadro torcido, la cabeza cortada en la foto, el horizonte inclinado, la falta de ortografía en una palabra que nunca has visto escrita, el dejavú, el instinto,  buscar las llaves en la nevera y allí están.   El olfato y el tacto, el aroma y la piel. Las figuras encajan en sus huecos  como llaves que giran, muebles a medida o ropa de sastre,  como la palabra exacta, la frase breve o refrán de antes, como darse la mano, dormir arropados o besarte. Como que era segu...

  I saw us dancing. I saw a living room that felt home. Even if I hadn’t been there before I could recognize the furniture, the colors felt like we chose them, and so did the music, so did the vinyl distortion bubbles summoning songs I’ve never heard, but felt like comfy to me. You were all wet from the poring rain and the oven heated a favorite food I never got to ask, but somehow I know that was what smelled in there. And I’ve inspected the shelves of your childhood bedroom, just to happen to confirm I read the same books, that we dreamt of the same stories, self educated ourselves in the same heros, teenage romances, and Disney characters… I’ve walked my sight on every ornament and wondered the story behind them, but chilled knowing there’s all the time in the world to know. We’ve arrived home in a long night roadtrip and I’ve carried you in arms. I’ve read out loud for you, you’ve read out to sleep. We’ve reminded each other we wanted to stay even if we fought. We’ve been in mu...