We've taken the long road,
Curvy road,
Crossing mountains,
Infinite tunnels
Built ages ago.

Somewhere we diverged
Your tail lamps fading
In the rearview mirror
And in my life,
In the long miles
Between any start
And any destination.

We're protected
From rain and snow,
But forever accompanied
By loneliness
Of a quiet road,
Long, long road,
Where night are inevitably
Longer than days
In the drama
Of lost paths,
Bifurcations,
Clovers,
In infinite combinations,
Always leading
In the unexpected
Feelings buried
In the soft sands
Of the surrounding deserts

We reflect ourselves
In everything we create
Hoping then to be mirrors.
Turns out, they're just
Aging photographs,
Revealing the time past,
Where we've grown,
Where we're stuck,
A passage from the past,
Untouchable,
But reachable,
Invisible,
But never invincible,
Just the remains
That we, inevitably,
Will lose.

Sometimes we free fall
In the windy moist air
So we can learn to fly
Only to reach the sky.

No words.
Sword on.

We spend our time
Building mirrors
So we can see ourselves
Wherever we are, touch, see.

At times we're lost
For we don't resemble
These mirrors anymore.

The truth is
They weren't mirrors
At any time,
But instant captures,
Limited by space, time and depth.

Happiness does not flourishing
In the minimal spaces
Left between
The unsoiled feelings
Occupying our anxieties.

We find the fertile lands
Where we don't seek,
Where our thoughts diminish,
Where heartbeats are heard
In the intensity of the rush
Warning us
That any of our ideas
Are less than useless.

I tried to hammer
"Together"
Into "love".

It blew,
And all that's left
Was "me" and "you".

Prologue:
I Am:
A permanent state of being

I am:
A transitory state of being.

The poem:
I Am nothing
For every cell
Is dying, being born,
Getting old, getting replaced,
Everything is changing;
I am well,
I am fine,
I am worried,
But this are minor am's.
For I Am nothing.

What's left for the guilty
Besides a life long self awareness
Of a lesson that costs more
Than what is leaned?

Maybe it's not the balance
Or piece of mind
That matters,
Maybe it's us, just us,
Our strength
To survive
A lonely guilty journey,
A new type of immortality,
The perpetual absurd
Flaming from what it produces:
A lack of force that ultimately produces
The strongest one.

Late at night
Problems are up,
And in my head
A slight shade
And running thoughts
Quietly and calmly
Slow down
With the fading chords
of a Chopin piece.

Everything else
Remains the same:
Problems will still be up
In the morning,
Restless and relentless.
But those chords,
That song,
Fluid,
Will, every night,
Carry me in that
Zero gravity machine.