𓇼

me pregunto si alguna vez sospechas

que soy moldeada alrededor de tu boca,

alrededor de tus labios,

que tú, confundido, respondes de antemano.

tal vez si me hubieras preguntado sobre el pan y el café,

tal vez si hubieras mantenido

¡Ah, qué triste, que no lo diré! Sé que las palabras no escaparán de mi boca.

¡No juré por el nombre de nada en la tierra o en el cielo! Y lo deseaba, lo deseaba de verdad.

I would crawl up to the pillows and cover myself with messy blankets. Eyes probably tired. Mind probably full of uneasy thoughts. My mouth would be too tired, as well; and I would close my eyes for a moment.

There were always those nights. Sometimes I would be excited and it would be enough to say a word. Then sometimes I would be rolling over the couch, thinking “maybe tomorrow” and close my eyes for a moment.

Sometimes, I would even cry; silently and without speaking. I would cry, and I would be okay with that. I thought maybe you could see through my salty water. I thought maybe it could mean a word to you.

And the nights when I was mad at you, I still thought about you; and about everything. I still thought about school, and about the clouds I saw, and about my dog that just passed away. And I would think about a hundred ways of telling you, without telling you.

I was, in fact; never mad at you. I was just embarassed of myself, and my mind would make up the idea that it was your fault for making me feel that way.

There were only a few times when I liked talking to you. I always thought it was a one-sided conversation; no answer from you. And so I always thought I didn’t deserve it.

The matter is, Holy Father, that I still looked for you. I am drealing to talk to you. I am drealing to tell you everything, to ask you for everything. Even the words on my mind that were not for you, were still for you. Even the hundred of ways to avoid your grace, were still hundred of words thrown at you directly.

Do not think of me as negligent, Father, for I am too embarassed of everything. And even if I am, since you are all-knowing; treat me still as your beloved daughter.

My heart aches at the thought of placing my dirty soul next to you; so the moment I do the cross sign and sigh with disappointment, stay with me.

Fíjese en la franqueza de mis ojos, en su claro color café; compárelos con algo, con alguien antes visto. Fíjese en mi cabello, bien cuidado, y repase la cascada que cae sobre mis hombros. Fíjese en mis labios cuando los adorno con colores, adore la textura y compruebe la suavidad. Fíjese en el rojo de mis mejillas cuando me habla, cuando me llama por mi nombre. Así, pues, fíjese primeramente en lo que es sencillo de adorar; haga sus conjeturas.

Y luego, si desea, fíjese también en mi esencia de espíritu, en mi divina moral, en mis deseos de ser y no ser. Fíjese en mi adoración por lo artístico, por lo musical, por lo real. Fíjese, también, en mi adoración por usted.

Hubo, entonces, ciertos períodos de tiempo, de felicidad. Y luego encontré un poder y una esperanza, después de muchas escrituras. Entonces dejé el dolor, el arte, las palabras y la pluma.