March

Will I ever feel something like this?
Your lips, your hands,
your eyes, your hair.
It is now a memory of bliss.

Distant.

Or of what it has already been
in fact, because,
you were the cause
we said everything we did not mean.

Again.

November was stress,
December was a mess.
January painted me golden,
but February got me broken.

Now that it is already March
it has turned out we are no match.
But just in case you want to know,
I think I'll wait for if you show.

In silence.

I want no more furious crying,
no more drama. It has me dying.
Forget me if that is what you need
to quit this wound from the bleed.

A Cernuda.

Hazme creer que esto que sucede
no está pasando, miénteme.
Dímelo, bajito y al oído,
las veces que haga falta.

Solo quiero que, por una vez,
me hagas creer que estás aquí.
Que beses mis labios como si todo,
pero siendo, en realidad, nada.

Justo así.

Que luego ya tendré tiempo de marcharme
de decir adiós.
Aunque me pase toda la vida despidiéndome
antes de irme

allá, allá lejos;
donde habite el olvido.

11M

Hoy,
siendo 11 de marzo, y no 30 de junio,
ni 1 de agosto,
sigo sin conocer otra sensación
a parte de la nostalgia.