We have a problem

We have a problem regarding your silence.

Because whenever you are not using all the fancy words while elaborating intricate conspiracy theories,
you are mute.

Every time I mention our interactions.
Every time I hint you about our possible encounters.

Sometimes I wonder how all that quietness can fit inside that cute-as-a-button body of yours.
Or how all that alcohol gets you only slightly and elegantly drunk,
letting you conscious enough to keep asking me if I’m all right.

I am, I repeat. Over and over again.
I am all right.
You, on the other hand, have a problem regarding your silence.

Escapar

Escapar.

De los oídos atentos y quisquillosos;
de los ojos violentos, muy abiertos, muy mezquinos;
de las manos que ahorcan la voluntad
y las narices que perciben algo extraño.

Escapar a decirnos los secretos, a cumplir las promesas.

Paso, paseo, cinta, música, arena, agua de mar, camas sin techo, silencios.

Ya sé

Ese día lloré con tanta intensidad que no se lo pude ocultar al mundo.

Entonces no lo sabía, pero ahora me doy cuenta de que alguien capaz de causar tal dolor, no merece ninguna clase de amor.

No de parte de este corazón.

Far destination

You’ve become the leading man of my late nights;
the figure in my going away dreams
–if such fantasies are allowed to take my mind–.

After all, you are the one that has the wings and the will;
I’m a house bird, you’re a free spirit.
I can’t allow myself to be the one who cuts your desire to fly.
I won’t let my head imagine the wonders of the world by your side

‘Cause you’re unreal and impossible to me.
Forbidden, off limits.

Yet again, that doesn't stop you from getting into my nerves,
and permeate my skin.