blistered heartsdon’t fear just hurtstraddles don’t look like usroaming in the dustwe just have blisteredwild hungry hearts fires on the horizonconsume our nightstucked in by secret desireswe wish not to see the lightbut crave what we deserve to haveand thenwe
IT’S BEEN A LOT Welcome to the end of the world… Sorry, the end of 2020. Is it the end yet? Not really. Nevertheless, there’s already talk about the cancellation of yet another festivity here in Spain: Christmas. How many times have we cancelled plans,
* These shards of hope cannot cut my skin, I’m made of tainted glass I feel the edges as my own. I can pick them up every day and put them back in the sun, where they can grow tight and make you smile. ** There are these moments when the moon is full and […]
Shimmering gold and I’m dreaming still, my arms closing in like the jealous tide, won’t ever try to find a better shore where to stop by.
Pequeñas y revoltosas, te envuelven en las sombras, me sonríen pícaras cuando te busco las cosquillas. Su simpatía me encandila, pero son escurridizas. Cuando quiero tocarlas tú me miras y en silencio me vacilas.
I never seem to get there to the point where my fingers reach the soft waters, the warm sand. I never seem to get close enough to dive deep into the sea and taste the salt on my lips.
«Life isn’t a support-system for art. It’s the other way around.» On Writing, Stephen King During the course of this week, I’ve read a new type of book for me: On writing, by Stephen King. This book is «a memoir of the craft», with the writer recounting
Have you ever felt like you are living a life that doesn’t quite suit you? That you are behaving and moving through your circumstances in ways that don’t do justice to your whole being? I feel like that right now. I know it is probably temporary, but I can tell
What is your calling? What is the purpose of your life? Why are you alive? What is the value of your life? What makes life valuable to you? What is a life well-lived? How do you find meaning in life? So many questions we ask ourselves. Some of us, we ask them constantly.
Salen los astros, te acarician las pestañas. Escuchas el rugir del agua, las risitas de los niños, los gritos de tu espíritu libre cabalgando en la orilla. El viento te aparta el pelo café mientras relames el sabor de la pinta. ¿A qué saben los besos que anhelas? ¿Serán de