Como crecen los niños / Clic clic clic

 Hoy hice una cosa que no debí.

Empezó inocente, como todo, y termine con el corazón roto, como siempre.

No voy a contar la serie de eventos que me llevo hasta ahí, pero no puedo creer lo grandes que están tus sobrinos. Me recuerdo la primera vez que vi a la niña. Era solo una bebe. ¿Cuántos años tiene ya? ¡Y tu sobrino, ahora hasta toma cerveza! Creo que a él le faltan solo unos cuantos años para tener la edad que teníamos cuando nos conocimos. ¿En qué momento paso tanto tiempo?

Yo sé que nadie debería de estar contando, pero yo sí. 

Dicen que uno se renueva completamente cada 7 años. Van 3 años y medio desde la última vez que te hable. Voy a medio camino de ser una persona totalmente distinta a la que te hablo ese día frente a tu puerta. No me dejaste entrar. Nunca me lo dijiste con palabras, pero auch. Ya no era bienvenida.

Y al igual que tus sobrinos y tu familia cambia, espero cambiar, yo también y que el destino nos mantenga alejados para siempre. Y quiero creer que no vuelvo a caer en la trampa de dar clics y clics hasta lastimarme otra vez.

Un(kept) promises - you coward

 You promised to stay.

You told me you were in this. That we were in this. That even if things got hard — with me, with my family, with life — you wouldn’t run.

And for a while, you did show up. You helped carry things I should’ve never had to carry alone. You made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t too much.

But then something shifted. Maybe you got tired. Maybe it got too messy. Maybe you saw an easier road and took it.

What hurts the most isn’t even that you left.

It’s that you didn’t say goodbye.

You slipped out of my life like someone who never planned to be there forever.

And that crushed me.

Because I was still fighting for us when you were already halfway out the door.

I needed closure. I needed answers. I needed you to look me in the eye and honor what we had — even if it was ending.

But you walked away. Quiet. Cowardly.

And I was left with questions that echo in my ribs when I’m trying to fall asleep.

So no — I’m not going to sit here and blame myself anymore.

I showed up. I gave love. I believed in you.

You just couldn’t do the same when it got hard.

And that’s on you.

I hope one day you realize what you walked away from.

And I hope I never forget what I’m worth again.

Things I Used to Believe In

1. That if I loved someone hard enough, they would never leave.

2. That being kind would keep me safe.

3. That love could fix things. Or at least make them bearable.

4. That someone out there would understand me—not just the surface stuff, but the storm inside.

5. That I could build a family, not just have one. One made of choice, warmth, late-night laughter, and safety.

6. That one day, my softness would be my power—not my weakness.

7. That my voice mattered, even when I wasn’t okay.

8. That being “difficult” just meant I was real. Not broken. Not unworthy. Just real.

9. That there was magic in the world. Not the glitter kind—just… meaning. Tiny signs that I wasn’t alone.

10. That healing would come. Maybe slowly, maybe sideways. But eventually.

I’ll help you burn it in ink / I saw you again

 Dear Ghost,

Ten years. That’s how long I gave you.

Ten years of my time, my trust, my heart.

And you didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye.

You didn’t break up with me.

You broke me.

And then you disappeared.

Do you know what that does to someone?

To be left like a forgotten voicemail—like a book you got bored of halfway through?

To look at my phone for weeks, months, years, hoping silence might finally say something?

You didn’t just leave—you erased me.

I hope my memory finds you in the quiet moments.

I hope it lingers when you rock your daughter to sleep.

I hope when she asks you what love is, you feel a flicker of shame.

Because you had it. And you threw it away like it meant nothing.

I don’t wish you death. But I wish you reckoning.

I hope my name tightens in your throat when you try to lie to yourself.

I hope your happiness is haunted by the truth of what you did to someone who would’ve given you the world.

You don’t get to forget me.

I was real. I mattered.

Even if you pretended I didn’t.

All the things I gave him

The way I was always thinking of him—
of what he liked, what he said,
that he was alive at the same time as me.
I thought it was a miracle.

I turned him into a god I wanted to please so badly—
if he had asked for my arm,
I would have chopped it off myself.
But it was worse,
because he never asked.

And even then—

I gave him my heart.

I gave him my life.

I gave him my soul.

And then he left.

Sueños perdidos / tan tonta

 He estado pensando en todos los sueños que deje ir por el.

Deje de soñar con una familia, con una casa. Deje de soñar con vestidos, bodas, anillos.

Deje de soñar con sentirme querida.

Odio haberlo elegido para vivir mi vida, y no haberme dado cuenta que el no quería vivir. Recuerdo cuando le llore diciendo que pensaba que si tal vez yo me esforzará más, si hiciera más, si diera más de mi, el iba a tener ganas de vivir, de esforzarse más, de hacer más y que diera más de si. El mismo me dijo con su voz y sus palabras que no, no había nada de lo que yo hiciera dijera o fuera que lo hicieran a él cambiar lo que era. Y me sentí tan inservible e inútil, porque me había puesta como única meta el hacerlo querer vivir, y nunca pude.

Deje ir mi juventud, mis sueños y mi vida en alguien que no quería vivir.

Solo puedo llorar y pensar, en cómo fui TAN tonta.

Del mundo oscuro y todos los sueños que deje de soñar por él

 Conocí a dos chavos en el trabajo que son tan diferentes a el.

Trabajan.

Para empezar eso ya es una gran diferencia de el.

Les dan cosas a sus novias todo el tiempo.

Las incluyen en su futuro.

Y pienso, claro que las incluyen en su futuro, porque ellos por si mismos tienen un futuro. Ellas son un plus en sus vidas, la gente con la que eligen que quieren vivir.

El nunca me incluía en nada, y no era por mi. Era por el mismo, porque él no tenía un futuro, no trabajaba por nada. 

Siento que me duele el pecho pero es de caer en cuenta que como dicen, le estaba pidiendo peras a un olmo. 

Como podía esperar que me quisiera y me tratará bien, si no lo hacía ni por el mismo?

Es esto a lo que se refieren con que tienen que buscar a alguien que tenga ganas de vivir y de salir adelante.

Hablan de casas, de vida en conjunto. Mencionan regalos y cosas, no como una carga sino como algo de lo que se sienten orgullosos de poder dar.

No sé cómo fui tan ciega. Siento que en estuve tanto tiempo en un cuarto oscuro y de repente tiraron una pared y se hizo la luz.

El mundo es tan basto y grande y enorme, pero se me había olvidado porque me amarre a ese burro y su estaca.

El dolor que siento son mis ojos ajustándose a la luz, recordando, cuanto brilla el sol.

The us of another universe

 I had a dream about you the other day. It was weird. We were sort of like a family, with a kid and stuff. I was confused but somehow happy.

It went on and on following us in our daily routine. I knew I was dreaming and that it was stupid to keep going but I wanted to know how it would be like if you hadn't left.

I didn't woke up until at one point in the dream, where we looked into each other's eyes, you reached out to take my hand. I stared at it and was starting to stretch my hand to reach yours, and then, I woke up.

If it's true that dreams are us in another universe, I hope they are happy.

del abandono de las letras y la miseria continua

 Ayer alguien me pregunto si todavía escribo aquí. Le respondí que sí, pero retroactivamente. Me cuesta escribir ahorita porque hace una semana me compre unas postizas y todavía me cuesta acostumbrarme al movimiento de mis dedos con estas garras. ¿Qué pensaría de mí, la yo que empezó a escribir aquí hace más de 10 años? 

Ya no escribo como antes creo, porque siempre me da la impresión de que escribo sobre lo mismo y que todo lo que tengo que decir, ya lo dijo alguien más y seguramente mejor que yo. 

Solo escribo de lo que sufro, de lo que es mi existencia y el internet me hace pensar que todos vivimos la misma vida de una forma u otra, que ninguna experiencia es auténtica y que no soy diferente a nadie. Eso me libera y me mortifica a la vez, porque entonces me siento libre de simplemente ser sabiendo que todos sufren igual que yo, y me lastima porque entonces no le encuentro sentido al sufrimiento si no es único.

Yo solo quiero ser, no quiero estar. No quiero existir más en este plano, quiero irme y alejarme de todos y de todo, porque no entiendo como ser agradecida, no sé cómo sacarme de la cama, como querer salir y ver y hablar porque hace 10 años me parecía que era una persona interesante y que tenía tanto que dar, pero ahora siento que solo sé que no se nada, que no soy interesante y que estoy vacía y no tengo nada que dar.

Todo lo que me gusta, todo lo que hago, todo lo que sé no le interesa a nadie y por algún motivo de nuevo eso me libera porque puedo ser yo sin vergüenza, pero me lastima porque pienso que mi yo verdadero nunca podrá ser reconocido ni amado por nadie.

Y así, como hace 10 años, siempre llego a la conclusión, de que soy miserable.

A(new)ther Love - Klara's remix

I would like to take you to all my favorite places, 

but all the memories I have of them are with someone else

I'll give you the roses that used to grow on my heart

but its spoiled land and they won't flower now

I wish I could kiss, made us feel alright

but Im so tired of bracing lonely nights

I want to cry and I want to love you

but I used my tears on another love

On another love, another love

All my tears have been used up

On another love, another love

All my tears have been used up

On another love, another love

All my tears have been used up, up

If someone dares to hurt you, you know I'll fight

but my hands are cripple of fighting someone else's wars,

but I can use my voice, I'll be so freaking cruel

words wont hurt them but I'll still try to

and I'll write you verses that I've told no one else

but I've used all my lexus and gave it to someone else

And I want to cry, I want to learn of your love

but I used my tears on another love

On another love, another love

All my tears have been used up

On another love, another love

All my tears have been used up

On another love, another love

All my tears have been used up

Of love languages and neglect

I was thinking about the moments I valued the most from those few days, of how happy he seemed to be next to me. He would hold my hand all the time, and even look for it if I took it away for a minute.

I remember the tone of his voice and the smile on his face when he realized I had allowed him to be part of my life, because he knows I don't let people in my life that easily.

I remember his gentle touch when he kissed my forehead and the scowl on his face if I strayed away from him even in his sleep.

He held my hand in his, the room was dark and as we talk about who knows what, he scratched his eye with my knuckles. I remember the feeling of his eye leads on my skin, the moist of it forever in my memory. And his laugh as I asked him what was he doing and him not being able to say why he felt so comforted with my touch.

And the last night, I remember the way he swirl in bed and came close to me, eyes closed feeling the softness and warmth of my body, rubbing his face on my skin and letting go a big sigh of relief when he put his arm around me and hugged me. 

There I was, being loved and desired after so many years. After being told, we "no longer had to kiss that often now that we were 1 year into the relationship". Seeing his scowling upset face all the time, his huffs of dispairment when he was around me. How holding my hand and having me near him felt more like an obligation than something he enjoyed

How he was may be not even tired, more like annoyed or I would dare to say, grossed out of my company.

I think my love language has changed after that. Or I have discovered my second one if anything. I've always loved spending lots of time with the people I love, but now I also know, I like to be touched and kissed and hugged by my partner. After all the time I was neglected, and told how much of an annoyance it was for him to even kiss me on the lips, my new lover soft demeanor and smile on his face when he was around me, reminded me of something I had lost hope so long ago, an unthinkable concept.

That I am lovable too.

Qui(e)t

 I have a new lover and I dont know how to deal with it.

I wish to tell him so many things but I get paralyzed with the memories of the way you treated me when I spoke my mind.

Im so afraid of being unlovable that I become numb.

I hate how the wounds that you caused me are so not healed yet. How they are ripping open when my new lover's kind hand moves gently over my skin. I feel the cuts and scratches bleeding again.

Im not healed yet, Im not ready yet.

I wonder if I'll ever be. So insecure and sad and hopeless. 

So from all the marvelous things I want to tell my new lover, when I look at his eyes instead I see yours, and so, I say nothing.

WITHdrawal

It's been just a few hours. I did my best to say goodbye, did my best to hold you a bit longer, to feel your warmth a bit longer, but I didn't wanted to cry.

I'm in my bed — pants, sweater and a blanket, but I'm so cold, and somehow I'm sweating like if I'm in a fever.

You hugged me tight and while looking at my soul through my eyes you said "we'll meet again". I couldn't open my mouth, or you'll hear my voice breaking, so I nodded and faked a smile you didn't believe in.

I'm so tired, but I can't sleep. I'm having issues to breath. My thoughts are running around the last few days, and I feel my body shake in small tremors that keep me awake.

I did my best to hold your hand in mine a bit longer, to feel your touch on my skin a bit harder. You held my face with soft hands, closed your eyes and went for my lips. A kiss. One last kiss, and then, you walked away.

It's been just a few hours, but I can attest what they say is true: withdrawal is so hard to go through.

a-ban-doned

 I hate how you took us for granted. 

How you let everything we had gone through go to the garbage. 

All the times I was vulnerable with you. 

All the times you were vulnerable with me. 

Everything we've built up to that point, you didn't destroyed it. 

You abandoned it. 

With me trapped inside.

Family Dinamics

 He standed Infront of her and pointing his finger to her face said

"WHEN I GAVE HER TO YOU SHE HAD 2 SHOES, WHAT HAPPENED TO THE OTHER ONE?"

She standed there, below him, looking at the ground. The 1 year old baby grasping to her mother's hair, missing her little shoe.

The older sister (half-sister) adjusting the glasses her grandma gave her because she can't see at school and then she can't pay attention and that means she gets bad scores and that causes her sister's father to get upset and scream at her too, she adjusts her glasses cause she needs to see, she needs to find her baby sister's missing shoe.

"I'm sorry I don't know what happen" the mom studded, looking to the floor while he stands tall, at least 50 cm taller than her and at least 100 pounds heavier than her and his voice a thousand times stronger than hers, and her baby keeps waiving her foot without the shoe and grabbing her mom by the dress cause she wants to eat but baby is not hungry, baby it's just anxious cause she doesn't know why her dad is screaming at her mom in the middle of a restaurant cause she is a baby and she doesn't know her shoe is missing.

He sighs loudly and it's about to say something when his mother, the grandma interrupts him, tells him to stop it cause she is always telling him to stop it, what ever he is doing, she had always told him to stopped it but she knows as she says it that he never does, and she wonders when and how her son became this man that never stops, even when she is telling him to do it cause she is going to go look for the little missing shoe.

He lets go a frustrated sigh and keeps accusing the mother of his daughter of always being careless and always being useless and never paying enough attention even tho she is following with her eyes her oldest daughter who keeps looking for the shoe, even tho she keeps taking care of the baby even tho she can't ever go to the bathroom or eat or sleep properly cause their baby is just a baby and needs her mom.

But there's another actor who tried to stay away and detached of the situation but she can't fight it, the voice of her brother who was once a sweet kid had became her nightmare and the reasons she couldn't get a long with her mom, neither with their dad cause dad never taught him how to be a man cause he was too depressed to teach anything so her brother learn on the streets and her stuff kept disappearing and he would get back home high as fuck and would raise his voice at their mom and she would cry her lungs out "IF YOU THERE TO TOUCH HER ILL GET YOU IN FUCKING JAIL" cause he became violent and the love of their mother couldn't really let her see the man that sweet boy had become. So she looked away but clenching her jaw and her fists, trying really, really trying to stayed detached.

"It seems we can't find it" said the grandma finally, the older sister looking defeated, the mother holding the baby still looking to the floor, trying to hide the shame cause everyone eyes were on her and she thought about how he must be right and she is useless and careless cause she always ends up being scream at, by the father of her daughter, by her mom, by her dad and when someone raises their voice she becomes even smaller and frightened.

He takes the baby's backpack and walks out the door with the mom, the baby, the other kid, the grandma and the aunt walking behind him. 

And the baby kept waiving her little foot while the little shoe had always been chilling, inside th

e baby's backpack.

trustee - how ill never trust anyone ever again

There are days I still wonder if you ever understood how important you were to me.

I'm listening to a podcast about a famous Chinese singer who was very depressed, and how she had called her best friend and left a voice mail explaining that they were feeling terrible and needed someone to talk.

And I thought how I could never call someone when I'm feeling sad. How I could never tell anyone how useless and meaningless I sometimes feel, and how there's days my life and existence don't make any sense.

I couldn't tell anyone but you. I did call you and talked to you and cry in front of you a lot of times telling you about it. I now realize, this was a lot for you to take. I was putting my life in your hands and expecting you to solve my problems. To give me a sense of self. 

I was expecting you to relieve me from that burden. And you really couldn't.

I guess that's why you left. I know now, I can't make some else responsible for myself the way I used to do with you. I'm the only person responsible for me. So I can see how tiresome having someone like me around could be.

I can't blame you for leaving me. I know, that I'm often a little bit too much. I know now that calling you when I was feeling bad and showing all these fears and vulnerabilities was a mistake.

I thought I could trust you, but I wasn't supposed to do that.

And I know now that I will never trust anyone again with my sadness and my sorrow, the way I did with you.

I'll never trust anyone, ever again.

Any-verse-aria

 It's been almost a year now. I should be sleeping but I can't. 

The last few days I started thinking about the accident again. Today when I got to my room, I thought about what it would have looked like if I had passed away that day.

I sat down on the bed and left my bags on the floor. The bed has no bedsheets right now but it had them that day.

I could imagine my mom coming to the apartment and opening the door of my room sobbing. Looking at the bed not done and the stuffed lion I always sleep with, comfortably positioned in my pillow and covered with a blanket so it doesn't get cold. 

I imagine she would sit down, hug the lion and cry over my pillow.

I imagine my sister sobbing uncontrollably looking at the gift she gave me before I left for the trip. The Sakura mousepad unused.

I can imagine my dad, sitting on the couch back at home, completely dissociated and sedated, with the doggies asking for pets.

I can imagine my best friend apologizing over and over again to my parents, like if it was her fault.

What would they do with my stuff? What would they choose to keep? What would they give away and to who?

What picture would people use to talk about me on social media about how sad they are and what else would they say?

I wonder, what would my mom or sister choose to dress me with for my last outfit. Would they give a sweater in case I felt cold? Would they ask the funeral home to put a stuffie inside the casket in case I felt scared and wanted to hug something?

And what would my face look like? Would they be able to hide the bruises? What color would they tint my lips and cheeks so I wouldn't look so pale? Would they let my hair down, because they know that if I go to sleep with a pony tail or anything it gives me nightmares?

What color would the casket be? What type of wood? What flowers would they use to say good bye and do they know my allergies never allowed me to smell flowers?

Who would show up? Who would shake my parents hand and say "I'm so sorry for your loss" and come up with a sweet story about who I was. And would there be anyone regretting not being nice to me before I passed? What words would they never be able to say to me now?

Who would sit in the chairs around my slowly putrefactive body, doing small talk and catching up on gossip? What food would they serve? I always liked the chicken soup and the cheese sandwiches.

Who would carry the prayers and who would take care of bringing the priest for the mass? What songs would they sing and would they know if I could, I would have liked to sing them with them? 

And then, once we got to the cemetery... what would their last words be? How would they know that the sounds of the dirt on top of the box would make me remember how the bodies collapsed on top of me while I was unable to move or breath and had only the ability to scream as much as I could.

What would have happened to my soul after that? Would I go to hell? Have I been good enough to be close to God or would I need the thousands upon thousands of prayers from my mom to leave the purgatory?

Would God consider the time I imitated the kids from Fatima and tried to torture myself tying stuff to my body to help the souls of the ones in hell? Or would it hold me accountable for the countless times I said I dispissed my life and wanted to die?

And later, a year later. What would remain of me? Would they still whisper my name? Would they love me more? Would they try to trash talk me and who would say "we don't talk badly about the dead, they are not here to defend themselves"?

Would dying that day stop all the suffering and fear I always lived with?

My nose hurts. 

I should be sleeping but I can't. 

I keep thinking about my own death since then, and I wonder if I'll ever stop thinking about it the way I do. 

I wonder, when I'll be able to rest.

Of not loving again and a house without cieling, walls, windows or doors

No creo que tenga la energía que se necesita para poder querer a nadie otra vez.

Me imagino como una casa completamente destruida y abandonada a la que botaron hasta los cimientos y apenas estan construyendole unas columnas delgadas. No tengo techo ni paredes, no tengo ventanas y menos una puerta a la que tocar y que pueda abrir para dejar entrar a nadie. 

Mi corazón no es un lugar habitable y es más un riesgo para otros y para mí misma, con la diferencia que yo vivo ahí, en esa casa sin techo ni paredes ni ventanas ni puertas. 

Todos los días me arrastro con la poca energía que me queda para picar piedra e ir construyendome de a poquitos un día a la vez.

Y me preguntó si algún día voy a terminar y mi corazón otra vez tendrá techo, paredes, ventana y puertas para poder abrigar un nuevo amor.

Memories of steamy and soft couch kisses

 It's been 10 years since the first time I kissed your lips.

We were laying in your couch, watching TV a Friday evening. Your dog was a few steps away, snoring.

And then, at some point and with a self confidence I envy now, I lent over and kissed you.

And we kept kissing all night. At first it was small, shy kisses until they became intense and steamy.

I remember leaving your house that day floating in a bubble of pink love and happiness.

I often envy the 21 year old me that kissed you that day. I know we are meant to change, but I don't like what I have become. What I allowed you to do to me during those years together, weights on my shoulders and suffocates me often.

There hasn't been a single day I haven't thought about you since 10 years ago. You were part of my life for almost a 3rd of my life. I repeat that again and again in my head every time I start being hard on myself for not forgetting you yet. 

How could I move on so fast after losing not only the love of my life but my best friend?

It just makes sense right, that I have a hard time getting over you? 

After all, you ment so much to me. And I wonder if you still think of me everyday the way I do. And if somewhere in an alternate universe, we are still on your couch kissing for the first time and forever.

Dreamless restless nights

 When I was younger, I spent sleepless nights, thinking about the future. I used to play the same scene again and again in my head, until I fell asleep to continue dreaming. So full of joy, of hope. 

Now I prefer the blurred future, the one I can not see and can not imagine. The one I can't be sad about if it never becomes true. 

I don't want to have hope again. Being disappointed is tired. 

And I fall asleep to dreamless restless nigh

ts.