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How wonderful would it be if I could twirl around on my toes like I always craved to do since I was a few thousand days old?
How fantastic would it be if I could paint a masterpiece as big as the solar system and add the details of every star out there, even the shooting ones?
How phenomenal would it be if I could glide beautifully on thick beds of glistening ice while music invades my ears?
How outstanding would it be to take a bite of golden victory as the anthem of my country performs along in the background?
How bizarre would it be to skate my bow on rosined chords and shape ethereal harmonies?
I wake up every morning full of wonder, puzzling, wanting to try everything there is on Earth and to savor gold as I live every illusion there can be.
i cannot explain this bitter feeling of feeling like you are being forgotten, like you don't exist for a moment to the person that you name stars after and all I know is that it eats you from the inside out starting with emptiness filling the stomach, a dull pain in the heart and making its way to the mind, filling it with cyanide.
it makes its way to the eyes and rivers spill (if they haven't poured out already) and it keeps you from feeling the least bit cheerful enough to do anything.
all you know it that you loathe yourself for not being intriguing enough for them to at least spend treasured seconds of such relatively short life to send a good night message when more than just dear seconds of your relatively short life turn into minutes; minutes turn into hours to ponder and puzzle, to overthink and look for keys that are not there.
i cant explain this poisonous feeling of not feeling enough for a person that sparks metaphors and poetry that will not be read by a single soul, not even reread yourself.
and this is where you crave another body, another soul, some peculiar and truly fascinating pair of eyes.
you sink yourself lower and lower than you accustom to until rivers turn into oceans and you hit the Mariana Trench.
your insides have tightened, your eyes have iced and you cannot feel a thing.
you just want to have the honor of reaching every corner and junction of that person's brain all twenty-four hours of the day like they linger in yours.
you want to have your eyes compared to at least shining stars like you compare theirs to galaxies, to dedicate at least precious seconds of their such a lightning life to you, just like you dedicate beloved hours to them.
  Nov 2014 Génesis Rodríguez
how can i love you when i can't even love myself?
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