"Los amores cobardes no llegan ni a amores ni a historias,
se quedan allí…"
Oleo de una mujer con sombrero, Silvio Rodriguez.
I love old buildings. Abandoned . They evoke memories in me that believed extinct since childhood . I
do not know why because you appear when you least expect or sometimes
in the course of changing events , one way or another, my life. So when I see some structure falling apart or simply aging , rejuvenates my memory a bit . And the feeling , as pleasant as can be described , stimulates my senses and gives me some peace.I love the rain getting wet even when no longer be an option. I love women. Haughty . Smart as life itself , leading me in the ways of love for me and just lock me in them. That is why , perhaps , the origin of my erratic behavior with them this originated in a place that my mind just remember ...
only fragments of a time when, still a child, I was forced to accompany
my parents to all the events you attend , were parties, concerts ,
fairs, etc. I remember a long journey. I guess I went out to the periphery of the city. Just come to me a few moments of dark roads and a long journey.I only remember her eyes. And the sensations aroused in me that look . At that age . I find myself early to imagine situations that would live as an adult . With her. That 's just a kid . Like me. The playground only exacerbate get my tender desire. Not anything wrong. Only kisses. I imagine kissing. Stroking his long, straight , black hair. Fleeting shadow of what it would be, after the source of derision from my thoughts. and how to accompany me look at the world from that time. I remember back around those eyes . Her seeing me in a brief but powerful moment . That's when it observed , close to my house. Would
go back there in a couple of times before I knew I was enchanted by the
magnitude of that imposing abandoned building , which probably would
have ignored before that day because now I feel like from the inside of
his silence, his deadly stay , its decadent space , call me with eyes that have mesmerized me . Even
now I feel naked, since rediscovery that part of the canvas, that
hidden tapestry that is my own story , if not attempt disentangling step
the memory of those eyes watching me with the incipient evil of those
who know desired and causes the awakening slow unscathed , those ethereal fires do enough in my one again. every old, crumbling building, attempt to possess his spirit every day I meet an old house . Or a ghost town will become my absolute terror, full of eyes. Of murmurs . Of uncomfortable silence, these silences those who can not face without a tear drop . I look sick. Sick of a forbidden , talkative, unrelenting , tyrannical passion. And from that story can finally begin to baste the paths that lead me ,
later, at the dawn of my puberty , fall in love , perhaps for the first
time completely, Nora.I can not speak for all the others who share that helpless feeling. Cold. Only under my own entrance and whisper in the ear of those who join me in this reading a story that I felt forgotten. With
the passing of the years and the entrance to my early stage as an adult
I felt sick when mine is more intense love that fails because he has
not found out that primary purpose. That goal that would take him away forever ridiculous evocations. and my face is marked by a desperation of wanting a normal, in my case, never will. Because I'm certainly unique and my legacy is going the other hand,
happy, well wrapped and in its fullest childhood because, lacking both
the fall comes to my door, intensifies characters into words, the
blessed delight that are letters.Will my loves, therefore, are cowards ? Never grow. They feed on a false effigy Gods worshiped but lifeless. and yet ,as they have created for themselves, so many stories! They were and what a day will speak my best. From my heart and my imagination truant soul...I've already lost. Not result ever get out of that huge hole, cold and alone is my soul. Because despite being in my good companion time, lover, friend, I will always be destined to remain alone. remembering that look, home of my new life , is evoked in each edge of time undoing the Temperate and light strands Wind...