If I slice my heart open, you will see flours sprout and roots sewing the pieces back together gently and softly.

If I turn my back to you and offer up my spine as a fishing rod, you will see feathers nesting in between my bones.

If I open up my palm and reach out to yours, you can look down on my life line growing.

My scars are there, unhidden, unapologetic.

Look closely and see how they have healed, untainted by pain, unaffected by loss.

My skin reminds me of your touch and my heart beats singing your name.

But my skin is thick and remembers what it needs to grow brighter.

And my heart is fierce and only remembers how light is something that comes from within and not from people.

This is a story void of metaphors.

This is a tale with no symbolism.

This is a love letter.

This is a love letter to you.

You that you have brought my wilting heart back.

You have breathed the memories of what it feels like to be capable of generous love.

But love is fickle.

And when I say fickle and remember you, I stop myself.

I see how before we were the ghost of something undefined, we were the light of a burning candle in the midst of darkness.

But for now I cradle my heart, slowly, let it unfold, and tell it the story of how it overcame many crashing waves in order to enjoy the warm sun.


Internal dialogues – Part I

She’s sunken in the ottoman in her friend’s living room, staring up in a daze. She has a lot to say. Of course she does, she always does. She has opinions about everything from fire ants to putting chipotle in green salads.

“What’s wrong with her?

  • Nothing! Don’t be an idiot!”

When Nadia was younger, she tried to tell her mom that she thought buildings shouldn’t be over 5 stories high because neighbors would be strangers, and what’s the point of having a neighbor?! But her mom was late for work? She tried to run after her… but her mom was always late for something…

“What do you mean?! Look at her! She’s so…

  • Don’t say it.”

All was fine with the world. Because Nadia read and drew and wrote. And she thought that that if she did all of that, then she would be able to hold her tongue… but boy was she mistaken. If anything her case grew worse! With all of the imagination she’s cultivated in her brain, words started spilling out like a serious case of chronic vomiting.

By the time she was 11, she went to a new school. She met new people. And she thought, oh so foolishly, that she could find someone who would understand her. Once she told this girl in class, that she thought about what would happen if firecrackers were put in a microwave. I mean obviously she knew it was a bad idea, but doesn’t it make you wonder nonetheless!?

Well, rumors travel fast in a small catholic school. And wouldn’t you know it, soon enough, Nadia started a continuous monologue for the remainder of her school experience.

“Maybe she had bad spicy food last night….

  • Does she eat spicy food?”

When she was 13, Nadia got bored with writing and painting. She got bored with school and mothers. So she thought about music… what if musical notes can deliver your thoughts from their self-inflicted prison?! So she learnt how to play the violin. And the violin started to feel like a nice familiar friend who didn’t care if she thought about whether the sea was reflecting the colors in the sky or was it the sky reflecting the colors of the galaxies.

But the violin came with its own friend. A man. A man that made her believe that the only way she could stay friends with the violin, was if she would be friends with him.

She really wanted to stay friends with the violin.

“Diana, I really think we should take her to the hospital.”

When she was 15, she realized that she started to hate the violin. And she couldn’t understand why. And then she told her parents that she didn’t want to be friends with the violin and the man anymore. And her parents did nothing. Her parents  didn’t ask. And the violin and the man were gone. But her thoughts festered.

“For what?! A bad case of the bafflement?!”


Stories and fairytales.

I cradle my baby in a heaven of sorts, a sky as limitless as the infinite distance between your eyelashes. My arms wrapped around the softness of your skin, reminding me of every atom of passion put into your metamorphose.

I sing you to sleep a melody of the stars. That little crude lullaby I used to know so well. It will stick to your brain and play back again and again. And then one day you’ll wake up, with a tune running through your mind endlessly; you’ll remember that it means something that used to mean something. A vague feeling of familiarity. An assortment of memories. A distorted flashback.

I carry your heart with me, in the sound of my voice and the tips of my fingers. I let you slide through me hoping you’ll find your way back and forgive me. Hoping you’ll forgive me for the sins I never committed but desired. I plead guilty and I wait for that time to come. Tic tic tic.

Tic tic tic, that’s the sound I constantly hear. It prickles through my brain and keeps me up at night. Half awake in the dark of a room that is not mine. I feel you there holding my bones together, giving me all the love and attention I owe you. So unconditionally, so ultimately. You bring me up as I bring you down.

And I cradle my baby lovingly. Admiring her smile as she sleeps. What is she dreaming of? What does she see? Am I the villain in her fantastic story or her savior on a transparent cloud? How I wish she would tell me. Just tell me what I am. For in this little story of mine, I am everything I never thought I’d be, always too much but never enough.

Wish I

I want to be Maria Callas. Stand on a wide open empty stage and fill it entirely with my voice so loud and deep that it goes under the audience’s skin and makes them quiver. I want the music that rises from my raw vocal cords to bring the fragile souls some strength and the angry ones on their knees. I want to be an unwavering song.

I wish I could be the Eiffel Tour. A majestic symbol of romance, a witness to so many first kisses all under the same sky. A piece of art timeless and limitless that people in love swear by. A home to the pigeons of les toits de Paris.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful If I were a little girl’s doll. Forever joyful and comforting. I’d fall asleep in her arms every night not worried to be left behind. Knowing that when one day, my little princess would grow out of me, I would be kept a loving secret in her heart until her daughter’s big blue eyes see the world.

Oh, how I wish I were Jane Austen. Creating worlds of innate passion that arouse from words and letters. I’d draw a masterpiece of phrases that would resurrect with each passionate special two. I’d describe a smile to be so enticing, that just reading about it in my pages would make a flow of trembling jolts come over you.

What if I were a little café in Venice. A secret meeting place for lovers on a distant holiday. I’d cradle the last goodbye of the English innocent girl and the Australian scared boy. I’d hold the hands of the elderly, ever so in love, wife and husband that came to celebrate their 63rd anniversary. I’d smile for every new love sprung to life and cry with heartaches.

Alive and well*

My dreams are made of city lights and skyscrapers. They’re as high as the sun. They shine as brightly as the moon. And at night when all minds wander, my dreams explode with life.

My dreams are bound to me, they cannot exist, they cannot breathe, and they cannot rise without me. I feed them life! And I… I do not exist without my dreams. They haunt me and pull me and defy me to be, they defy me to be more than I ever dared!

My dreams, they are an exquisite mix scent of magnolias and lilies. They swift from room to room, invigorating and engaging. They arouse and create. They inspire and infatuate.

They do not know limits. I cannot conquer them or outgrow them for they will always be a step ahead, they will always shine a little more.

My dreams, they laugh and cry. They fall in love so passionately, so deeply and they cannot contain their twirling, they cannot restrain their swirling. A flow of rivers that fall into the sea. They’re made of smiling fruits and heavenly music. They shine in the light of a candle and bring me comfort when I fall behind.

My dreams, they rise and rise. Even after they fall.

But mostly… my dreams are mine and I am theirs and we are one.


Recommended playlist:

– I won’t disagree by Kate Voegle

– Fast car by Tracy Chapman

– If it kills me by Jason Mraz

Just when you thought you had it all figured out…

It all starts with the first ray of light, the moment when you open your eyes and you cling to your sheets. That’s when all of the inspiration of the day hits you; the exact moment when your toes are cold and tingly, while your blood is soothing and warm through your veins.

And it all starts again…

Ibai Acevedo

Do you believe in coincidences?

Well I don’t… Everything is intertwined, all is interconnected. Every choice that I made yesterday will affect my life in ten years… you may call it the butterfly effect, you may call it karma or even the law of attraction… all these theories sum up to one and only ideology.

The choices you make today, will for sure affect your life path all the way. And with every changing variable, the entire equation changes.

And the single most influential variable of all: human nature…

The contradictions that lie within a person are mesmerizing, to say the least. People are filled with good and evil… essentially we’re all raw, wild, passionate and driven by our instincts… the black in the Ying. That’s when your parents, environment and society come in to mold you, to sculpt the little pieces of your soul into something more convenient to your entourage… Contradictions then arouse: good vs evil, right vs wrong, perfection vs imperfection… It all shapes you.

However, while some people think that it is in being absolutely good and pure and morally driven, you become perfect; I believe that it is when you balance the various aspects of your personality, that’s when you become whole.

A purely good person? How annoying is that! you can never believe such a person and at some point he/she will develop into being a snob show off.

Perfection is when you realize all the imperfection there are in a soul and create such a dynamic that will balance various aspects and contradictions out.

Therefore, every morning, I wake up with the tingly exciting feeling of wonderment:

How will this day shape me?

Where will my new encounters lead me?

Are the plans I made yesterday still valid today?

And what, Oh what will this new day surprise me with?

Inspired from an earlier undone post and from current events I am savoring as long as I get to