Fragancias.

A lluvia.
A mojado.
A perfume desgastado
por la prisa,
por el viento
y el intento.
A silencio.
A mirada.
A sus manos.
A mi sonrisa
y su traición.
A su roce.
A la curva
de su boca
algunas veces.
A la falta
de su roce
otras veces.
A mis ojos
en su pelo,
en su nariz,
en sus mejillas;
en sus cosquillas
y mis ganas
de buscarlas.
A los trazos.
A los tacos
cuando dice;
y a todo
lo que no dice.

Fear.

Hi,
this is not an entry about poetry, or smiles that drive me crazy, or people, or dreams.
Well, maybe of dreams.
This is an entry about fear.
And fear sounds more real in my own language.
So that's why I'm writing in english.
This is probably the most stupid thought I've ever had, but who cares? Is anyone going to read this entry anyway?
Returning to the fear thing, I'm feeling that it is appearing more often lately. And is not about the school marks or the PAU tests anymore. It has been. But I'm almost done with all that.
Fear comes now when thinking about the next step. I've been focusing all my emotions, all my fear and anxiety on this very year the past nine months. I've been so into my studies, so into my own little world in which only books, teachers, family and a few friends could enter that I'm freaking out now about the day everything is over.
What is there after that? Is the real world going to explode in front of my eyes the moment I dare to open them?
Will I be able to survive the explosion? Will I be able to find myself out of the wreckages?
Will I know what direction to go? What path to take?
Where will I go then?
Down to where will I be capable of go?
Will I get someday all that places I've never got?
Will I see that sunrises, sunsets, seas, skies, towers, streets, people, stars I've never seen?
Will I go further? Further to where no one has gone. To where everyone has one.
Is this more than the diary I never write? Probably not. Probably, there will be one day when I read this in the future, that I will laugh of the fear. And that day I'll be satisfied I wrote this, so then I'll have something to laugh at.
Best wishes,
E.

Si muerden, sí. Y si no, que se queden también.

No suelo quejarme, a veces.
Sin embargo siempre se me queja tu ausencia, aunque estés.
Y cuando me ves, chilla un poquito mas alto
y me pregunta cómo es que no salto.

Pero es que si salto me caigo,
me tropiezo con mis pautas
y tú te enredas con mis fobias.

Me envenenas las ideas
y te mezclas con mi antes
(y con mi antes no se juega).

Igual que si remuevo mi odio por el café
y mi odio por el humo
(tres cucharas y media justo)
en tu piel y lo diluyo
con mi intento de escapar.

Ya sabes, que no me suele gustar lo amargo
y si es tóxico menos,
(aunque no, no lo sabes)
pero es que si viene envuelto en mariposas
que se queden aunque muerdan.

Que se queden aunque duelan,
que vivan aunque se mueran (a veces).

Si al final, será costumbre,
la que me voy siempre soy yo.