Te vi

Te vi congelada en un beso somnoliento, discirniendo si era yo a quien deberías de amar (si no para siempre, sí por éste momento). Ahora, con la voz que lo sabe y lo ve todo te digo: "sí, soy yo a quien debes de amar" (si no para siempre, sí por éste momento)".

Me das un beso loco y luego un beso desconocido. No lo entiendo; me enloquece.

Baby

Baby, I can see you through our window, (Baby, I can see you through my window)
while you pour a glass of vino (while you feel the disappointment)
and light up a cigarette (and swallow up, whole, your pride).

Baby, could you tell me what's hurting? (Baby, would you tell why you are coming)
Why you drink in this mourning morning? (Why you tombstone is not important?)
Was it me or was it him? (Was it you? Was it the rain?)

A sardonic vision of your future, (A promising vision of your next one)
made me love you even more. (made me hate you even more more)
You didn't know you were fucked up (I didn't know I was fucked up)
But I knew it all along. (But we knew it all)

Now you see the butterflies (Can you see now? Your heart flies.)
and finally believe in them. (He, finally, believes in it.)

Would you believe in human kind?
It'll put an end to your tears.

Penélope

I wake up at dawn, dreaming I don't know what.
I have breakfast with rain and I remember you over coffee.
I dreamt your figure far away,
waiting in the suburbs of oblivion
and I saw me setting sail on golden ships
that I had filled with presents for you
and then I saw that because of jealousy the sea of my torments,
swallowed the ship and that crazy one who was me.
And everything shipwrecked.

How far you are, how far I am.
The debris of my life slide with the rain
forgetting Penelope.

I abandon my self to the waves, they spit me out of the sea.
Years have gone by, no one knows where you are.
The deserted streets at night
and your face is drawn in my memory.
The trees hug themselves
like skeleton woods in the rain
my dream shipwrecked.

How far you are, how far I am.
It rains mint tears and I get drunk with sorrow
forgetting Penelope.
How far you are, how far I am.
The debris of my life slide with the rain.
forgetting Penelope.
I refuge in taverns and become taciturn
Forgetting Penelope.
How far you are, how far I am
what is left of my life I spend it in the hovels
remembering Penelope.

Me despierto en el alba soñando no sé qué
desayuno con lluvia y te recuerdo en el café.

Soñé tu figura lejos, esperando en los suburbios del olvido (Penélope)
y me vi solo, zarpando en barcos de oro que llené con regalos para tí
y luego vi que por celos el mar de mis tormentos. Se tragaba el barco,
el tesoro y aquel loco que era yo y todo naufragó.

Que lejos tú, que lejos yo,
los escombros de mi vida se deslizan con la lluvia
recordando a Penélope.

Me abandono a las olas, me escupen del mar.
han pasado los años, nadie sabe en dónde estas.
Las calles desiertas por las noches
y tu cara se dibuja en mi memoria
los árboles, se abrazan, como bosques de esqueletos
en la lluvia, y mi sueño naufragó.

Qué lejos tú, qué lejos yo.
Llueven lagrimas de menta y me emborracho de amargura
olvidando a Penelópe.
Qué lejos tú, qué lejos yo.
Los escombros de mi vida se deslizan por la lluvia
olvidando a Penelópe.
Me refugio en las tabernas y me vuelvo taciturno
olvidando a Penelópe.
Qué lejos tú, qué lejos yo
lo que queda de mi vida lo malgasto en los tugurios
recordando a Penelópe.

Cold Cry (from the draft box II)

"I think and think and think, I‘ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it."
— Jonathan Safran Foer

The blizzard freezes your scarf, bonnet and heart.
Your thighs burn, your mind is numbed; it'll last.

Thinking means setting your neck and back on fire,
thinking aggravates that feeling in your gut, dire.

You put your glasses on hoping you'll see better.
Short-lived tears die in the corner of your mouth.

Tap your foot impatiently, words are dead in your throat.
Get the courage to write what you feel; tell her.

Tell her that your silence is out of fear, not disrespect.
Mention to her that it's cold outside; that it's cold inside.

You cry and swallow your pain. You say that it'll be okay.
You know that it'll be. But it still hurts, it still does.

You cry and you drain. You know that you love her.
You cry and you drain. You cry and swallow your pain.

Weekend

You pull the string and the light goes off. She says good night. You lie there with her; memories, kisses and laughs. She enters your room (you had been waiting for it while reading a book of old stained pages) and lays on top of you as you put the words aside. You get under the blankets and grab a book. You say good night and embrace the last hug of the night; or at least that's what you think. You, you and her, come back home late at night after displaying a secret many people knew about. You wash the dishes and clean your kitchen while she sleeps on your sofa under your blanket. You pick up the bowl she filled with cereal and milk fifteen minutes ago. You wake up and she is not there; cleaning time.

She tells you that you should go to sleep to your room. You ask her if you could sleep with her tonight, after having fallen asleep while she was resting in your lap watching one of your favorite shows. You put the sofa bed away around four in the afternoon because you think it has been enough watching TV and enjoying her sleep in your arms for that day. You explain to her that your sofa pulls out to a bed and you both decide to lay there and watch movies in a Saturday morning. You wake up in her mattress that rests on top of her box spring; you were cold that night but your soul was sold in peace.

The night ends as it should have ended. You both come back from a concert that started way too late. Walking home is not as terrible when you have her besides you, grabbing your arm. You ask her to go home. You and her are upstairs kissing and hugging in the midst of dancers, the music plays loudly. Downstairs, you kiss her. You tell her that you like her. She tells you that she likes you. The two of you order a couple of drinks from the bar. You and her come into the bar and pay the eight dollars they were charging. She brings you a beer; you pour her a drink. You fill the flask in preparation for the night. You both drink after taking showers. You look at her and cannot stop admiring her beauty. You talk to her and you like her.

"Days like this"

In days this like this I feel powerful and vulnerable. I feel like going back to create a future. I feel that the tomorrow will bring the same disappointments of the yesterday; that broken hearts will, inevitably, be. That the fact that I am getting my bangs grow is a fruitless endeavor because I will cut them anyways. All the words I've said, I feel, have been in vane. The one that I used to be is not anymore and the one I wanted to be may not ever happen. I feel convoluted, I encounter myself digging through my past, thinking if the decisions I made were the right ones. Most of the times I believe they were, some other I simply do not know.

Fue amor (English translation)

I could have done better.
You could come close to me. [sic]
I intuited that this, my love,
was breaking and it's always like that.

The truth is that everything was
so strange, so strange at the end.
You were looking for God's powder
I was drinking to depart from here.

Every time I think about you,
it was love, it was love.

All the world talks to me about you,
and I can't stop laughing.
What you do and where you go
of your apt. always to Prix D'Ami.

It's not fine to break a heart
Dejá vú of what's coming.
You wanted to see me happy,
I wanted to see you to revive.

Every time I think about you,
it was love, it was love.
Every time I think about you,
it was love, it was love.

These running days my love,
this is where we were destined to live.
Tangled in the Entel cords
we'll be coming out of some dream.

As always, I can practice
and the kiddos are always there.
There is a boomerang in the city,
my love,
everything comes back, as you say.

Every time I think about you,
it was love, it was love.
Every time I think about you,
it was love, it was love.

O tempo voa (ou o amor vai e vem, mas isopor é para sempre)

Um ano atrás, eu estava flutuando entre beijos que repousavam na parte de trás da minha mente.

Na manhã seguinte, peguei um avião.

Eu ainda me lembro.

Corazón de flores

He hecho un corazón de flores.
Quietamente sembrado
en el jardín del ayer,
en la emoción del beber.

Un corazón de flores he hecho.
En el pasillo hacía ti.
Sobre tu memoria quebrada
sobre mi alma remendada.

Un corazón de flores sembré
hoy cuando pensé en ti.
Cuando tu recuerdo, casi
omnipresente, me hizo sonreír.

I am

I alone and lonely. I am frustrated. I am grown man. I am remembering. I am who I was not. I am a rainy day without a rainbow. I am, most of the times, a fool. I am a drumstickless drummer, I am a teacher. I am a bad student. I am a smoker of cigarettes and unfulfilled dreams. I am a sunless sunset. I am a vague memory. I am multitasking. I am a broken bastard. I am the shine in "sunshine". I am clean. I am big. I am useful. I am used. I am the dress that you know you shouldn't buy because is not the right size but you buy it anyways hoping that some day it will fit you. I am the last scare in a bad horror movie. I am the last last goodbye. I am, sometimes, reckless. I am a test in progress. I am immature. I am never done. I am sad. I am sorry. I am me. I am the one that has to deal with me because I am all I have.