When I met you I didn't know what we would become.
I didn't know what love would turn us into.
I didn't even know that you would be the love to me that I never imagined I would find. I didn't know that love saves.
I didn't know that love would take my breath away as only you can take it, love.
When I met you I had to fight with every fear that I had always carried inside me, every day for all my life. I had to fight myself and you because you weren't real. You were dreaming and dreams hurt in the morning when you wake up. You I love you was a struggle against everything I had in my heart and brain.
Because you know, the heart goes on one side, the brain on the other.
And I believe that love is love when the brain and heart both answer yes.
Becoming yours was a reward, it was receiving the best gift ever requested and received. You weren't expected, you weren't expected to upset my life. It was not expected that together we would be different.
Beautiful things are never expected.
Love, they say, is seeing even the worst of the other beautiful and it is true. True because I see everything about you beautiful, even your worst. Because loving is first learning to love mistakes. The defects, the ugliness, the troubles of the other.
When I met you I did not know, you taught me.
Like everything else. Like to love, like to fly looking at a pair of eyes. How to write your name everywhere. How to learn how to make cakes just to surprise you.
That fighting is the most powerful demonstration of love there is.
That the sun in your eyes warms up more willingly if two hands are intertwined, especially if these hands are ours.
When I met you I didn't know that making yourself beautiful was something to give to you.
I did not know that each of your "you are beautiful" would remain engraved in the heart and each "I love you" would become a mark on the bones.
When I met you I didn't know that loving you would empty and fill me with everything and that being naked in front of you meant feeling free for the first time in my entire life.
But love, I'm not just talking about a naked me in your arms, I'm not just talking about skin that undresses and hands that touch, I'm talking about showing you my heart as it is, without barriers, without reservations: naked.You took it. I gave it to you.
And I thank you for all the fears you have taken, for all the insecurities that you have cured me, for all the still open wounds that you have disinfected me. Thanks.
Because people don't know they hurt, because life doesn't know it's hurting and because we ourselves don't know how to stop hurting ourselves and then we are poisoned by wounds that do not heal and for this I thank you for coming, for knowing you and letting myself be saved.
When I met you I did not know that love is a miracle and that the greatest miracle for me is you. 


At the end of the world we will realize that life is out of the house and how stupid the borders are of what it matters to be first at the end of the end of the world we will stop putting a price on everything to build walls and close borders and to think too much about it if you invite me to drink at the end of the end of the world we’ll make love as the fuck it goes there will be no natural family but nature will recognize us at the end of the end of the world we will have understood that we are saved together holding out his hand to those who get lost in the sea and ceasing to pollute the sky at the end of the end of the world there will be no production awards happiness will have bare feet everything you live for will be free at the end of the end of the world it will be the beginning of the beginning of the world.


Los que no pueden ser ellos mismos no lo son, y para ser ellos mismos hay que mirar no sólo dentro de sí, sino sobre todo fuera de sí mismo, ya que ser es ante todo "relación". El ser es un tema del que podemos poner, en abstracto, sólo las premisas. El desarrollo es acción, "acto puro". Y debemos actuar no solo por nosotros mismos, sino también por los demás, por aquellos que no pueden salvarse a sí mismos. Una vez me negaron ayuda y esto convirtió mi vida en una sentencia. Un msno que no llega a otra mano es una mano que rechaza la vida y condena a muerte a la otra.


Siento el dolor y con los dedos lo tomo y me lo como.
Poanho, me encanta, me canso, me quedo.
Una sensación
una certeza,
¿Qué clase de hombre es usted?
Vacío o lleno me gusta el pan.
Extraño, real, anormal.
Una cacería solitaria
en el bosque,
pies sobre la hierba,
cabeza dentro del corazón. Antes de entrar, no llames.
La puerta no existe
pasillos de respiraciones, suspiros,
alguien que llega,
no dice nada.
El espacio del aire estalló,
los locos tienen el coraje de empezar algo sin nombre.



Once upon a time there was a little girl. She had a bob of golden hair and deep dark eyes. He always smiled, he appreciated life. She was an intelligent child, she invented stories, she loved to read, she wanted to be a writer, she thought a lot. Often she was alone: ​​she was too shy to communicate with others, she was satisfied with herself, she kept everything inside. But he was happy like that. Because inside she had so many beautiful things, a magical world made of dreams, glitter, love. She loved herself, she cared about her ideals. I remember that he played with pencils, he had all the colors, he made them talk. He had a lot of dolls, but he preferred pencils. She was a sensitive, sweet, nice child. He did not want to give anything to anyone, his things were only his property. But the heart, that heart would have given it to anyone. She was a good girl, always sunny and cheerful. I often wonder what that little girl would have thought of who I am now. Certainly she would not recognize me: she would have called me crazy, she would not have understood my scars, she would have grumbled at me from the smoke, she would have been sick with my suicidal thoughts. He would cry looking at me. He would see my smile, the same as before, but sadder. She would tell me to give a damn about others and eat as much as I want, like she did. She who had been vomiting for whole nights with sweets. That little eater with the big belly. Of course, she would also have been proud of my progress, she would have complimented me because she didn't know how to do somersaults, splits, bridges; because she didn't have the courage to experiment. I've learned a lot over the years, but I miss that little girl's sweet innocence. His way of dealing with problems. Holidays, birthdays, Christmas, when she stayed up all night to hear the footsteps of a fat old man dressed in red. When the golden lights on the trees enchanted her, when her little town seemed bigger than New York. That little girl who cried a lot and for everything, a bit like now. That little girl pretending to be a model or a dancer while trying on mom's big dresses. The one who loved the world and herself. That little girl I would love to see again because I miss her. Because I wish I was still as happy as she is.The child was asleep when the door opened and someone entered. Was it the fairy tale wolf? She was asleep but suddenly she felt something. A nuisance down there. A strange and bad feeling. The little girl did not want to open her eyes. He forced himself to leave them closed. And he died under the weight of the big bad wolf.


When I was younger: I would put my arms in the shirt and tell people that I had lost my arms. I restarted the game every time I knew I was going to lose. I slept with all the stuffed animals like a baby so none of them got offended. I had that 4-color pen, and I was trying to push buttons at once. I poured the soda into a lid and shaken it as if I were making small glasses. the hardest decision was choosing which nintendo game to play. I waited behind a door to scare someone, then I left because it took too long to get out or I had to pee. I pretended to be asleep so I could be carried to bed. I thought the moon was following my car. I watched two drops of water slip on the window and pretended it was a race. I used to go to the computer just to use paint. the only thing I had to worry about was the tamagotchi. the only ‘false’ friends I had were the invisible ones. I sang in the shower. (now? now I take some life choices down there). I ingested some fruit seeds and was scared to death that a tree would grow in my belly. I peeled my knees which healed better than a broken heart. I remember when we were kids and couldn’t wait to grow up. what the hell were we thinking about?


Okay, maybe I’m still a little girl. I like to believe that age is just a number. I like to smile at people I don’t know early in the morning, when everyone’s shoes are wet with rain and their eyes are full of sleep, so that they too smile; I like to make funny faces at people while they are making a serious speech; I like to hug people when they don’t know I’m behind them to catch that moment of amazement in their eyes; I like to be silly, sometimes, to keep dark thoughts from eating me; I like to make noise and sing and laugh out loud and scream in order not to hear silence; I like to give unexpected gifts when there is nothing to celebrate; I like to live in my enchanted world where everything is special and people can love each other without doubts, shyness or distances and imagine that something will happen that will save my life; I like to feel light and see the eyes of people in love that shine. Okay, I will still be a child, but children know how to live and wonder and laugh and dream and they have courage to sell; adults don’t.


Como un mar de seda Rojo fuego del otoño yo quemo Y protegidos del sueño dentro de mi se moverán Lentamente las llamas No se como controlar esta angustia criminal por vivir Hay algo mas grande que yo Es algo mas grande que yo. ¿Sabes que cuando el mundo te cae encima, estás aplastado y no puedes levantarte? Cuando los pulmones arden, los músculos tiemblan, pero ¿lo que sea que hagas se queda ahí abajo, aplastado? Levanté muchas capas por encima de mí, la más pesada de todas era mi padre. Sobre mí una historia que nunca podré contar porque un rostro sin rostro no se puede olvidar. Estaba escrito, pero lo vi antes de que sucediera. Dicen que quienes sufren traumas de niños adquieren entonces extraños poderes. Vi lo que vendría de Oriente, les dije, pero nadie me creyó. No tienen destellos distantes. No tienen truenos ni sacudidas. Ni siquiera tienen la previsión de enviar algunas nubes negras primero para anunciar su llegada. De repente sientes el agua, espesa como una pared repentina, que envuelve los contornos de los edificios y se desliza sobre las curvas de los autos en la calle. Y se oyen los resoplidos desconsolados de los que se han olvidado del tendedero del balcón, de los que aún no han bajado al perro, de los que tendrán que trabajar todo el día al aire libre, de los albañiles que se refugian en la panadería. Y yo, que camino bajo esta continua caída de gotas heladas del tamaño de una almendra. Camino desprevenido y resignado, pero una sonrisa se abre levemente cuando noto las cosas habituales que siempre me han fascinado de la lluvia, pero tú tienes la tuya, ¿qué sentido tendría decirte la mía?



I like people who have a full life because they choose you to put you on top of everything, not to plug a hole. The subtle condemnation of alienating anyone, being permanently closed in one’s castles, not trying to help those I know near, not showing the love one feels for a person. Being cold is this, trying a thousand things inside, not wanting to externalize even one. Many people are so closed, unreachable, unpleasant. It’s like hitting a wall and being revived by yourself. I have never denied my past, the experiences made, the wrong relationships, it will be why it burns me so much that he has canceled everything that connected him to me and these months together, as if what we had had never existed , as if I never existed. If forgetting me is as easy as deleting a handful of photos then I’m worth nothing, everything I’ve given of myself, what I’ve changed and tried to improve, everything I am is worth less than zero. And I miss him, pathologically, after what he has done and continues to do, I miss him and I wonder if he too misses me, but I know that I am like those deleted photos, I no longer exist.


I didn’t think the bottom of hell was that bad. It is filled with fear, tears, despair, anger, resignation and time does not flow here. It slips through your fingers but every day is the same as the others; filled with suffering. Sometimes you get out of breath it hurts so much trying to survive. It is called hell for a reason and as much as you want to make it, you are helpless. Crushed and reduced to a small and insignificant voice in an unprecedented din. We might as well adapt anyway, I’ll stay here for quite a while …I’m fine, but sometimes I break down and don’t notice. I’m fine, but sometimes my walls collapse and I realize I’m fragile. I’m fine, but sometimes I cry in front of a movie for too much love that I want and don’t have. I’m fine, but sometimes I don’t understand myself. I’m fine, but sometimes it still happens that I always hope too much and more than I should. I’m always fine, but sometimes I’m tired and my eyes shine less.

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