Searching

This morning I am looking for words. To tell the truth, since yesterday. This words are for today, to be use on this day. And even thou I know is just a matter of putting pen to paper and write and narrate of a simple thing, of a moment lost in time, of future plans bathed in hope. I am still looking, searching.

Has it happenned to you?

Have you felt loss in a path you carefully constructed?

Words are my significant other. Yes, they are my soulmate. And our relationship is uneasy, a rollercoaster, a train wreck, a warm summer breeze, a beautiful inspiring sight of a mountain range.

It is so much more.

An adventure.

A dissapointment.

Growing.

I am looking for words. Searching. I am lost again, it is not the words, it is I. In a moment of day dreaming I have realized it. I am looking for myself. And I will find her impaled in the shape of the written words. I must write.


swept away

Wednesday, January 13, 2021

There is much to do. The “white” floor is adorned everywhere by black specks. an unknown type of dust, or something similar. A few days back the broom swept them away, the mop erased their trace. But they are back.

Black against white.

Taunting. Being there.

A reminder of what needs to be done. A responsibility. There is much to be done. Yes! So much that for just a speck of time it could be ignored.

Instead a different type of black against “white” lures me. Calls me.

They are needed. Desired. They are a responsibility to myself, one that must be consumed in a fraction of time stolen from the much things to do.

I seat down, open the book and sweep away the words erasing the thoughts of the things to do and enjoy the stolen moment from the day to day responsibilities.

Alexandra


Si tan solo

Martes, 12 de enero 2021

Un granito simple, dorado, casi cuadrado sobre el plato. Un sobreviviente del moreno líquido matutino donde sus pares han dado su dulzura para anular lo amargo. Le miro. En mi mente no hay pensamientos, está en blanco como la superficie que le carga, le protege por ahora.

Las palabras salen a cuenta gotas. Se hacen difíciles en esta mañana soleada y fresca inundada, no por el acostumbrado cantar de las cotorras, sino por el insoportable y exagerado sonido de las líricas urbanas que laten en la atmósfera con su repetitivo ritmo. Cargan mi mente las voces que se comen la hermosura del silencio mañanero. Ahogan mi voz, casi no la escucho. Mi atención navega a esas voces que suenan como eco en las montañas.

No me agradan mañanas como estas luego de una larga noche en vela. Me agobian. Deseo escuchar la voz de mi escritora y perderme en ella. En el silencio que trae serenidad, escape. Que me seducen. Las necesito, pero estoy exhausta.

Un lugar soñado para escapar es el anhelo que despierta entre el ensordecedor ritmo. Una visión vagabunda. Campos, árboles alrededor, verdor donde descansa la vista. Inhalo.

Si tan solo.