It’s snowing.
The kids are outside,
laughing, building little moments,
As they cuddle the snow
In their hands,
mothers framing their joy
maybe it’s their first time
seeing snow in person.

For me, it’s only the second.
The first was barely snow,
more like ice
brushing concrete,
clinging briefly,
melting as if it knew
it didn’t belong,
Inevitable.

Back then,
a silhouette followed me,
a woman I loved.
Her eyes rested on my shoulders,
her steps trailing mine,
as I, spellbound by the ice and the cold,
ran wild across empty, frozen parking lots.

In another life,
I might have prayed,
might have begged,
Might have hoped
for that moment to stretch forever,
but my hands are hurting now,
and the snow is already melting.

Hoy me desvanezco
entre las sombras
de un ayer.

He escrito tanto
que ya no sé
qué debo sentir.

Ya no lloro
como solía llorar,
pero amo aún
como solía amar.

¿Será crecer
el no sentir?
Entonces,
¿para qué crecer?

Sufrimiento inútil
que trae felicidad,
shots de dopamina
en botellitas de
cincuenta miligramos.

Qué pena vivir,
no sentir,
desaparecer.

Esperaré la primavera,
con petunias y rosas,
árboles de colores,
y un frío
que puedo soportar.

Pero qué pereza
esto de vivir
si no pudiera amar
ni sonreír.

Hoy salgo a las calles
a caminar,
me perderé en los ojos
de extraños,
ojos llenos de vida
y de potencial,

que han amado,
que han despreciado.

Y conectaré con quienes,
como yo,
también desaparecieron
en busca de su ser

Every morning,
when the city still sleeps,
and skyscrapers glow softly
against the dark canvas,
I drive through
its quiet pulse,
finding a strange solace
in the mundane.

The beauty of the artificial
like catching the gaze
of someone you love,
their eyes familiar,
or cradling a warm cup of coffee
on a bitter winter morning.

Don’t get me wrong,
my mind still wrestles
with suicide notes,
drafts of nothingness
beyond death,
or whispers of
reincarnation.

But I’ve been learning
to linger in the sunlight,
to cherish a good conversation
with someone twice my age,
to lose myself, head nodding,
to a new album
on the drive home.

Maybe it isn’t so bad,
even if, some days,
it feels like
they’re winning.

I’m no killer,
But every once
In a while
I look at
The knifes
And ponder
A little too hard,
So instead I grab
My jacket and go
Outside, smoke
A cigarette,
watch the rain
Caress the concrete,
Creating little
Rivers,
I wonder
If my blood
Would pool,
Or if it’ll run,
What oceans
Will it find?

How heavy it is
that I seem to find
you in the eyes
of those I love now.

So inconsiderate,
wretched ghost,
poltergeist,
specter that haunts
my every sleep.

Following me
into every store,
every car,
every plane,
and boat.

How could
I ever live
without you,
when it’s you
that haunts
me?