Palabras austeras

Where I'd give my life to hug or smell you one more time. To hear your voice, or hold your chest against my hand.

It's hard to sleep without you since last March.

Just when I think I might get used to your absence, I remember I have to go through each day without you, and it kills a part of my (if any) humanity.

I can't wait to be with you, Buddy.

But for now I have to take care of Petto. We have each other, I'm not lonely. You left me in good, loving, cuddly paws. And you're not gone. I still feel you. I love you no matter what.

One day, Fluff of my life. Soon, I promise.

Rhythmic dissonance as an impression of stability.

Fuck Father's Fucking Day.

Half of the fathers out there did nothing but impregnate a woman for no other reason that because they could and she allowed it. Some of those couldn't even be bothered to man up. Fatherhood is a concept way bigger than your less than average, limp, disposable falluses.

Happy fatherless day to all of the abandoned children. To the abused step children. Happy Father's day to those ungrateful culeros that allowed children like me to come into the word because they were too coward to own up to anything more than instant satisfaction.

Fuck you.

I am tired of relenting the wheel to good ol' hope. Foot to the pedal. Seatbealts on?

But... to this day, I am proven wrong.

I am aware my faulty brain might play tricks on me. I am sure my intolerance and avoidant personality comes into play. Regardless, I am just as confident in the inconsistency & recklessness harvested in those around me that I can't conceive any other conclusion than: rely on no one but yourself. Trust only one person. Don't believe what you hear. Don't speak nor share your hard earned perspective. They won't listen. They don't really care. They all want supply.

My brain is defective. My perception of reality is crooked at best. My feelings are jaded and narratives are void. But actions... Actions are the only absolute. Hard evidence.

Evidence is, in time, verdict.