Agua salada

Ya no quiero ser mar, aquel del que no se ve el fondo, aquel en el que quieres nadar atraída por su misterio, por sus sombras y reflejos escurridizos. Ya no quiero ser esas aguas embravecidas fervientes en su deseo de alcanzar la luna, incesantes y ruidosas, caóticas, y que

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Musing in corners

Why do people choose to stay silent when they have so many and such important things to tell? A child lowers her head, cries silently and goes back to the end of the class. He closes the door to his office and looks out the window at a patch of sky. She finishes her turn

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What happens when a dream dies?

Does it make a sound, like a tree falling down, the rushing of the leaves, the cracks of its bark hitting the earth Is it like a scream, muffled by a feathers’ pillow in an empty house full of white blankets Does it smell like dry flowers between the pages of a notebook

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Singing along

Melodies, playing backwards while you keep on moving forward. It’s strange, but this is the way it sometimes goes. As the most recent memories sink in and fade beyond the horizon, residual feelings lick the borders of my mind’s eye and bring throw-away bottles with

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