Espejismo de lo eterno

 (Poema para quien fue mi casa, mi equipo… y mi silencio)

Creí que éramos dos en un viaje,

que el amor era equipo, coraje.

Cinco años de abrazos y “te amo”,

¿por qué te volviste un silencio actuado?

Las palabras que nunca dijiste

fueron piedras que el alma partiste.

Yo buscaba verdades, señales,

y tú respondías con gestos banales.

¿Eres feliz?”, preguntaba temblando.

“Claro que sí”, decías, sonriendo.

¿Entonces por qué sentía vacío,

si cada noche dormía contigo?

Te pedía fuego, y me ofrecías invierno,
entregué sin miedo, recibí silencio.
Di todo mi cuerpo, sin espacio ni tiempo,
y en tu ausencia aprendí a perder el aliento.

Recuerdo el dolor de sentirme invisible,

la amante negada, la flor imposible.

Fui voz sin eco, fui fuego en el hielo,

migaja de amor vestida de cielo.

Te amé sin medida, sin pausa, sin calma,

mientras tú me veías perder la esperanza.

Lloré sin que vieras mis ojos nublados,

lloré mientras tú dormías a mi lado.

Tantas preguntas me gritan por dentro:

¿cuánto tiempo pensaste en silencio?

¿Fue verdad ese “para siempre”?

¿O promesas con tinta indecente?

“No quiero ser tu cuidador”, dijiste,

cuando nunca lo pedí… y aun así huiste.

Inventaste un peso que yo no ponía,

y huiste de mí como quien se rompía.

Y sin embargo…

te agradezco, amor de espejismo.

Aprendiste mi idioma, cruzaste abismos.

Cocinaste cocolón, pisaste mi suelo,

Te animaste al viaje, aunque fuera incierto.

Los museos, el teatro, las cartas,

las risas de noche, la cama compartida,

la señora cangrejo, mis bromas raras,

la mezcla imposible de dos almas encontradas.

Fuiste mi hogar, fuiste abrigo,

y por años creí que eras mi destino.

Pero ahora lo veo, lo entiendo sin rabia:

yo era una flor y tú no regabas agua.

Me marchité esperando en tus manos,

y tú, agotado y frustrado, me diste de lado.

No supiste regarme, ni avisarme al partir,

Sin aviso ni ruido, me dejaste ir.

No te odio, pero sí me duele

saber que me amaste sin verme.

Que seguiste en la historia, sin alma, sin fuego,

repitiendo palabras con sabor a miedo.

Te amé con el pánico de perderte,

con la angustia de verte caer sin tenerte.

Te cuidé a mi modo, con todo mi ser,

y tú con el tuyo… sin querer entender.

Fuiste espejismo de lo eterno,

hermoso reflejo, sin fondo verdadero.

Y aunque sangro al dejarte partir,

agradezco el amor,

aun si fue…

un fingir

I Don’t Want a Cure

 

You ask what tickles me,

not knowing you’re the tickle,

the tremor running wild beneath my skin.

Your voice,

a wildfire humming low and sweet.

Your questions,

not to find answers,

but to pry open cracks,

to slip like smoke in my asthmatic lungs.

You are my fevered rhythm,

my delirium with eyes like stormlit skies,

my cocaine brewed slow in coca tea.

I stroke your monsters like dark cats,

let them curl and purr upon my chest,

their truths vibrating in the silence

where no one else dares listen.

Your shadows don’t scare me,

they hold my reflection,

shards of the same wild glass.

I don’t see red flags,

I see mirrors cracked with honesty.

May I never grow numb to you,

that my heart still trembles

when your name dances in my mouth,

that nervous laughter still bursts free

when I think you aloud.

I cannot sink my teeth in your skin,

but I bite your soul,

deep and unrelenting

each time you let me dive beneath

your hidden tides,

where storms sing songs

only we can hear and savor.

Here, where no one else breathes,

rules dissolve like salt in the ocean’s breath,

judgment fractures into prisms of silence,

only skin, raw soul, and wild transparency.

I am the open sky,

the restless wind unbinding your gravity,

the freedom you’ve been chasing blind,

the echo of your own vanished chains.

Thank you for being here.

For daring to feel.

For shedding masks

in this timeless, witnessless corner.

Your vulnerability

a crown of fragile fire

I wear with honor.

I fall in love

with how we light up

places that used to be shadow.

How we laugh on the edge of the abyss,

swinging on the breath of the void.

Your silence understands me.

Your laughter disarms me.

Your unfiltered self seduces me.

I don’t want medicine.

I don’t want a cure.

I want your midnight messages,

hugs that shatter my fears,

eyes that steal logic from my bones.

And if one day I die from loving you too much,

let it be in your arms,

with your name carved into my breast,

a heart unraveled like wild silk,

a soul freed from every cage,

rising louder than storms that dare to claim,

vanishing only in the blaze of rebellion.

This is no illness to mend or flee,

it’s the wildfire I feed, the fire I choose,

the beautiful curse that holds me

and the only cure I’ll ever refuse.

When You Leave

Your presence

quakes through me…

seismic, splitting bone from skin.

Your voice:

an aftershock of memories

too intense to be real.

Like a fever dream I can still taste,

but can’t hold.

I study your gestures,

the chaos in your movement,

your contrasts,

your wounds.

I want your mind,

I crave your body,

I dissolve in your mouth.

I melt into your kisses,

collapse in your arms,

vanish inside your stare.

I fall in love with your soul,

its shadows, its cracks,

its soft decaying beauty.

I rub my face against your knife-blade beard

knowing it cuts,

loving the sting.

The wound never closes.

I reopen it every time

our mouths collide like the world’s ending.

You awaken my masochist.

I fell for the one who bruises me.

Some call it cocaine.

I should call you God.

Because you take everything,

leave nothing.

a holy ghost hallucinated by the lonely.

A parasite we worship

to explain our pain.

I pray to you in silence,

and you whisper back,

never promises,

just heat,

just breath.

I try to imagine a life with you...

no lies, no time, no shame.

But I see nothing.

You made sure I believed

you have nothing to give.

I love you without saying it.

I give myself without warning,

knowing you’ll drop me

just as easily

as you undress me.

And it will hurt.

It already hurts.

Not because I didn't expect it,

but because I convinced myself you wouldn't.

I’m hopelessly in love

with everything you are

and everything you bury.

You evolve,

and I rot,

waiting for your arrival.

You inside me

sets off chemical fireworks:

dopamine, oxytocin, adrenaline.

A circus of hormones

screaming: stay.

And then,

the silence of your absence.

The echo of the door slamming

becomes a siren in my skull.

“Enjoy the silence,” I say.

But this silence

has teeth.

I can’t shut up.

I just want to scream.

To cry.

You had me completely,

and now you’re a ghost.

Tinnitus screams louder.

Sleep is war.

My heart roams, rabid,

searching for you.

How do I explain

that I tried to love carefully,

but ended up

losing my mind?

I look in the mirror.

I’m someone else.

You’ve become my addiction,

my self-harm,

my velvet-wrapped blade.

After weeks of no sleep,

no thought, just raw nerve,

I decide:

I’m cutting you out.

I grabbed the kitchen knife.

No anesthetic.

Cracked open my chest.

There you were.

So easy to find.

So hard to kill.

I sliced the heart in half

while screaming,

have mercy, you beautiful fucker!

Bloody on the kitchen floor,

I stitched myself up,

but your half kept beating,

defiant, romantic,

refusing to die.

What kind of witchcraft is this?

You’re not in me anymore,

but you’re still alive,

a tumor with rhythm,

dancing in defiance.

I’m dying slowly,

naked and shaking,

watching that stubborn chunk of heart

throb for you.

My vision blurs.

Breath shallow.

You’re the last hallucination,

your smirk,

your eyes like black holes.

Allison, is this real?

No.

But this is how it feels,

when you leave.