I wear you on my sleeve.

[ Pediremos que nadie se de cuenta de que estamos durmiendo escondidos debajo de esta gran piedra; y también pediremos que la misma se convierta en un monumento adelantado del mañana aún por-venir, aún por-llegar, todavía por-despertar – y finalmente pediremos que llueva un granizo de adoquines sobre esta misma calle para que nos entierre aún más y así caminos armar, túneles cavar, vías andar y una tierra subterránea fundar. Negros como la noche, podrían haberse ido hasta ser confundidos con simples sombras. Sin embargo, se quedaron – y se los puede escuchar hablar y dialogar bajo un tono similar, por debajo de la tierra conocida y habitada, ya demasiado lejos del exterior y sus fachadas vacías desde los ojos de la soledad y la locura, atravesando muros que sólo gritan. Las espaldas y los cuerpos. La diferencia entre el ritmo y la cadencia.

I want all of the same things that you want, I do. And I want them with you.]

I believe things happen the way they were planned to happen.
There’s no escape, you cannot twist what’s been written in your stars. Life is made by incidents, even good ones. And an incident usually doesn’t mark anyone’s life, it just goes away… Sometimes that means that a new corpus is about to be born. Sometimes that means that once the fierce is broken, it will never be repaired.

I may not be the girl you think I am, I’m just the girl you’ve found.

After all this time and all these things, now I’m completely sure that the loudest noise doesn’t belong to the words. Silence is always telling a little bit more… It’s like the sound of rain, you stop everything you’re doing just to listen to the rain. Silence is the thunder that can shake you up in the middle of the most beautiful, warm spring night. I’m right to say that silence and I share a love/hate relationship.

I remember: there was silence, and then our bodies tensed up as they got closer.

And now there is silence.
Silence is fire.
And I choose to burn.

I believe things happen the way they were planned to happen.
Lately, my dreams were breaking at the middle of the night but now I can say that it's not the same any longer: my black memories shattering my white hands and your presence lying beside me in just one very same bed are my strongest convictions for today. A million little mountains hidden in the pillow set the unconfort in my head, and my eyes open, dreamy buy annoyed, for me to bury my fists in that goddamed pillow to try to find some peace. And then I see your face, traveling halfway deep slumber. I realize you and you release life in me and lately, that ain't unusual. You cast my shadows away, you show me, you make sure that even asleep you are here with me because you know there are some things that I just cannot bear all alone. I cannot be me alone. But it's not the same. The warm protection that holds my body while I'm dreaming away is you, and it's not the same.

My head flies back to the soft hole my fists left on the pillow and my skull fits perfectly into the now comfortable, welcoming space. I lie back as I keep my sight leant on you. Your face becomes my last memory before I fall asleep and it will be the first image landing on my eyes when I wake up. Even asleep you’re here with me - and it's not the same, definitely. Eyes on you, you ask about the thoughts that cross my mind - well lover, these are the thoughts I've been spreading all along those 32 aglow blocks.

Life burns inside of you just as you release life in me, and lately, that ain't unusual.

I remember being afraid of blindness when I was a child: waking up one day and realizing my eyes have no aims any longer. All this time it was before my eyes and I know - having my eyes open or closed has always been the same. Blindness was a constant then - still eyes closed. Life can be such an unbearable thing if you force yourself to live behind your own shadows, most people already know: determination without action just means illusion.

How much time can you afford wasting in your own life?
How much do think you can possibly keep on going until you run blind?
Hoy many times a day do you repeat to yourself “it’s not easy”?

I can describe your presence as the chiaroscuro that reflects the rays of light most times people turn their backs on. I can narrate about your silhouette crashing and burning into a million different pieces each time a given situation would make you laugh or just gaze. Lying here or there- it just doesn’t mean the same. Your body is much more than skin and bones, pleasure to my senses - it didn't take you that long, you're just in time; and you're more than welcome.

Other songs are resounding in my head lately- the old familiar noises are nowhere to be heard now. Double exposure: the ears get used to these new sounds as the old traditions slowly fade away. Symbiosis. There’s nothing you can do to prevent these things from happen. As soon as the voice gets used to all these changes, your whole existence has been modified. You cannot touch that. You cannot change that. The new you has been born and you have been the most important witness in the entire, unpredictable process.

At first, these new tunes are kind of weird, resounding all around you like a very perverse way of getting in touch with yourself. But the darkest you find it, the more you get to like it. Then it’s time for oblivion to rush back at you, erasing all scars from within; leaving you in your purest state. Inalterable, almost celestial, to say - immaculate.

Devotion leads the intrusion. Then dependence shows up as well as fear does. You are now absolutely conscious of what you are, of who you are. You learn to love and understand yourself in a different way from others. Now you start to consider the word “protection” as an undeniable truth. You get to know yourself in your deepest essence and when that finally happens; you are ready to give up those things that don’t belong to you anymore. Your whole life, full of dreams as it was, was a dream in itself. You are the one you always knew you were; only now you’re starting to recognize your own identity.

Silence remains by your side. Always. It’s your own responsibility to learn how to be sheltered by it. Your silence can communicate even more than your longest explanation. It’s rhetoric, even spiritual. Silence can create the space you need for taking a breath and wait for the miracle to come. Your silence can fill all those black holes that could never be compensated with words. Words... They usually fail just because they say too much, but do nothing - oh, how the mighty have fallen.

This must be the closest approximation to the normal parameters of trust and care – plausible, eyes pendant on every move, and the eyelashes: some kind of aura piercing your human condition, keeping you reserved undercover in a way, divided into a million different pieces of consciousness and unconsciousness fast and slow, wild and tender. Behind the barrier we’ve built up in our minds there are these well-known silhouettes dancing in the air, fitting our bodies and making a similar shadow of them, shattering ourselves into lots of different pieces of humanity spread all over the place like little souvenires of faith resting positively somewhere, all over the bed.

So hybrid that becomes uncontrollable. So easy that’s almost impossible. So superfluous that ends up being deep. So fragile that all its splendor comes out from all its strength. So sinister that becomes adorable. So bright. So diaphanous. So perfect that makes you tremble. So rustically combined that ends up fitting in almost harmonically. So special that even turning away, remains the same. Leaving the dream and stepping into the real world is never easy: there is some sort of strange inertia, a fleeting but somehow everlasting instant when the body and the mind seem to be two different parts of the same equation, unable to manage themselves to find a way to interact.

Dawn. Cloudy sky, wet ground - somewhere out there, it must be raining.

It’s more than simply company: someone present.
You sleep. You dream away.
Are you gone?
Are you listening, watching, waiting, learning?
Can I be you? Go through you? Surround you?
Somewhere out there, it must be raining.

I may not be the girl you think I am,
I know beneath this sleek exterior there's less than meets the eye.
I may not even be what you've been looking for, your wildest-but-yet-mundane dream come true.
I may not be the girl you think I am, but I may be the girl for you.

Now there is silence.
Silence is fire.
And it’s a must for you to choose to burn.

I've never been much of a believer,
but I do believe things happen the way they were planned to happen.
I believe in the things that happen.
I believe in you.
I do.