I walk through rooms that know my name,
Where silence holds me, not to tame.
No need to speak, no need to be
More than the quiet inside of me.

Some chase the crowd to feel alive,
But I, in stillness, breathe and thrive.
They wonder how I stand alone—
But here, I’ve made a world my own.

The stars don’t ask where I have been,
The night just lets me sink within.
No masks to wear, no roles to play,
Just drifting thoughts that choose to stay.

A cup of tea, a half-read page,
A place untouched by noise or rage.
They fear the hush—I call it home,
Where silence hums and I have grown.

The sun comes out loud, like it owns the whole day,
It shines like it’s sure I’ll be okay.
It burns through the curtains, expects me to move —
Like light means life, and I’ve got something to prove.

But the moon doesn’t ask me to rise or perform,
It waits without judgment, calm and warm.
It shows up in the silence, when the world shuts up —
And reminds me that just being here is enough.

There’s peace in the dark when the day is done —
I feel more at home with the moon than the sun.

Click
We took our first photograph together.

Your arm extended,
my fingers meeting yours,
in an absurdly human ritual—
the rectangle of trembling glass in your hand
caught our two shy smiles
as the warm light spilled across our cheeks,
our faces aligned like moons
briefly crossing paths
in an intimate eclipse,
as if we could trap a moment that slips
and defy time’s relentless march.

Of all the infinite configurations—
of angles,
of timing,
of souls—
of all the arrangements of light
that could’ve slipped away,
this was the one we chose to keep,
and save from eternal oblivion.

It was a spring evening.
Madrid was peaceful and light,
bathed in a honeyed gleam.
It sighed beneath the sun’s warm caress,
like a sleeper between dreams,
as if the dying star of the day were reluctant to leave
and dragged its golden limbs across rooftops
like a parent unwilling to close the door
on a sleeping child.

The warmth of spring—
and what a spring it was—
had settled over our shoulders
like a cloak of amber light
that we drank
with our awestruck eyes.

Around us,
pigeons strutted in this park
like tiny bureaucrats,
while the breeze carried the rustle
of the gossiping branches.

Nearby was this temple of old,
once cradled by the tides of Nile,
whose stones remembered the heat from another sun,
still warm from that distant desert,
but now perched on a Castilian hill,
beneath these foreign Iberian skies—
like a ghost misplaced by fate.

And sometimes,
don’t we feel the same,
like relics unearthed from other landscapes,
swept by the currents
we never meant to follow—
trying to make a home
in cities that move to unfamiliar rhythms,
where no one remembers the myths
that once raised us?

We were standing mere meters away
from the altars where incense once thickened the air,
where gods dined on gold and blood.
But these gods are long gone.

And this place now receives
nothing but picnic laughter,
the squeals of children chasing soap bubbles,
and the gentle chatter
of modern lovers.

The mountains watched us from afar,
unmoved along the horizon—
their stone-carved faces glowing softly
in the blaze of the sky set aflame behind them.

Above,
clouds unfurled
in velvet waves tinged with saffron and flamingo,
they drifted like heavy curtains
drawn slowly across the sacred stage
where daylight prepared its final bow.

I do not know if any gods
still haunt the ridgelines behind those mountains,
or if they would care enough
to watch a pair of mortals from there—
but if any did,
I like to think they were old,
worn by the centuries,
but peering with a kind, aching nostalgia,
grateful to rest their heavy, tired eyes
on something tender.

Something called our eyes upward.

It was an agave.
Tall. Singular.
Standing like a lone sentinel—surreal.
Its stalk rose with the authority of a cosmic staff,
unfurling into the air,
proud as a forgotten king from a vanished realm,
risen from the earth
like a titan
in a riotous swirl.

It stood wild-haired,
crowned with strange blossoms
like tiny fossilized flames.
Its limbs twisted skyward,
as if reaching
to drag the ether down.

I just kept staring at it—
this strange, otherworldly thing.
I don’t exactly know why.
Maybe because it was so incongruous,
like it had wandered in from some uncharted planet
and just decided to stay.

It was the stillness that unsettled me.
The strange, impossible calm
within me.

I didn’t notice it right away—
struck dumb under the setting sun—
but my skin knew
before my mind did.

I was…
at peace.

I didn’t speak.
I didn’t need to.
The silence said everything.
So I just kissed you.

I was…
at peace.

Because when you pull me
into the softness of your arms,
I remember—
that love can flame,
burst and bloom,
even when we feel out of place—
like this exiled temple,
like the gods who fled their altars
to hide behind the mountains.

I remember
that even when beasts stir in the dark
and gnash their teeth in the shadow
through my sleepless hours—
still, we abide.

Still, peace can rise,
like those strange flower titans
that break through stones
to defy the cities
and reach
ever skyward.

I feel this peace
in the earth beneath our feet,
in the silence
where the old gods rest
and stretch the hours to cradle us.

I feel it in our souls entwined,
in your soft, kind eyes,
in this photograph we took—
this light we chose to keep.

And…

Click.

We took our second photograph together…

I stare blankly at the moon,
half-veiled by clouds and tears.
Far from homeland,
while heavy rain shrouds wounds.
My soul wanders, seeking rest,
yearning for the finest wine and cheese.
Yet sorrow shrouds my soul,
has made my soul cease,
leaving my emotions adrift,
far away in an unknown place.
Questioning fate, is there truly any peace?

With a favourite person,
they are fun, memorable, and sweet.
Time flies fast.
Things to share remain in heaps.
Half of the matters get interrupted with laughter,
the other half—
with silences that feel like home.
Eyes half shut,
hearts wide open,
stories spill that wouldn’t during the day.
Even after talking time to time on calls,
direct conversations hit different.
A mix of talks, singing, vibing together—
it can only be felt,
hard to explain in words.
At the time when everyone is lost in dreams, fully asleep,
here we are—
laughing to the fullest,
talking in whispers so as not to wake anyone.
Remembering old memories,
dreaming about the future,
sharing current happenings,
narrating to each other the dramas we watched and books we read.
Things like this continue,
until one of us drifts into sleep quietly listening.
The other just smiles,
tucks them in gently,
and falls asleep with a content heart—
ready to continue the conversation that was left halfway tonight.

[  ] I can never forgive myself for forgiving you

[  ] All those chances
[  ] All those days
[  ] And yet still you have always behaved the same

[  ] "Forgive him, he's family" is what they would all say
[  ] And I did
[  ] Every. Single. Time.

[  ] You were supposed to be the grown-up
[  ] but somehow, I always ended up being the one who acted grown
[  ] I was just a kid
[  ] And I was the one holding us together.
[  ] It was me bringing calm to your chaos,
[  ] Nursing you when you were sick
[  ] Keeping myself entertained
[  ] Playing with ******* to keep myself from feeling lonely
[  ] Cause you never bothered to grow up and show up
[  ] And even when you did, I still felt alone

[  ] And every time you got it together
[  ] you’d be better for a while.
[  ] You’d laugh again
[  ] act like things were normal
[  ] And make me think you were finally here to stay
[  ] So I’d let my guard fall just enough to believe it.

[  ] Then you'd disappear.
[  ] Or snap
[  ] leaving me again.
[  ] Always blaming myself, always thinking it was my fault
[  ] Also thinking that you didn’t love me anymore
[  ] Leaving me a mess.

[  ] And there I was again
[  ] In a never-ending cycle
[  ] a kid who was forced to grow up fast,
[  ] spinning lies to make you sound okay,
[  ] telling myself maybe next time would be different
[  ] Telling myself and everyone else "he's different this time"
[  ] But you were always the same

[  ] But now I'm grown up
[  ] And I'm tired of giving you chances
[  ] Of giving you my undying love and trust

[  ] Every now and the it replays
[  ] The sentence that got said so often it's written in my vains
[  ] "But hes your dad"
[  ] But I'm his daughter
[  ] But to everyone else that didn't matter
[  ] Because I should have been greatful that at least he was still "around"


[  ] We grew up together, really
[  ] you were practically a child too.
[  ] But with age, I matured.
[  ] You didn’t.
[  ] Even though I know you wanted to.

[  ] So I've finally decided I'm sick of making excuses for you
[  ] I've moved on
[  ] My patience has been used
[  ] But i understand it more now, however i dont accept it as an excuse
[  ] So for now, I made peace with who you are and what you do

[  ] You only get one dad, and I suppose I do love you
[  ] But I'm sick of forgiving you
[  ] Even though this time maybe it stuck

[  ] You have gotten better.
[  ] And I see that you try.
[  ] I know that you feel guilty.
[  ] But how do I know you mean it this time?

[  ] My one wish with all of this
[  ] Is that one day you will finally forgive yourself
[  ] And make peace with the fact that you ****** up.

[  ] Mistakes can fade,
[  ] but they don’t always disappear.

[  ] Like a scratch in polished wood,
[  ] you can sand it, seal it, varnish it with love
[  ] but the grain never forgets.

[  ] And neither does the little girl inside me.
[  ] She’s still there
[  ] stuck in time,
[  ] hoping you’d finally get your act together,
[  ] hoping you’d finally be her dad.

[  ] I’ve grown. I’ve healed. I’ve moved forward.

[  ] But she’s still waiting for the day
[  ] you become the man
[  ] she always believed you could be

In A Corner
Utterly mine, in the deep silence,
in a house of purest white,
On the cusp of a morning,
with my soul utterly serene.
In the garden of the soul,
among the butterflies,
softly fluttering,
gently whispering,
poems,
within me.
For me,
sighs,
tranquil and hushed,
from that weary breath,
that still persists,
whispering poems,
even as I drown,
in this life that is not mine.
While I await my flight,
to soar from my corner to another place.
That distant realm where the soul takes wing,
where peace knows no end,
where living no longer burdens,
where I shall never tire,
where all is beautiful,
on the very wings of God,
in my own place,
so far away.
Meanwhile,
time softly slips by,
and I still gaze out,
from this beautiful corner,
of a soul that has grown weary of living.

EN UN RINCON

Muy mío, en el silencio,

en una casa blanca pura,

Al borde de una mañana,

con mi alma sosegada.

En el jardín del alma,

entre mariposas,

revoloteando,

susurrando,

poemas,

en mí.

Para mí,

suspiros,

tranquilos,

de ese respirar,

cansado, que sigue,

susurrando poemas,

a pesar de ahogarme,

en esa vida que no es mía.

Mientras espero despegar,

y volar de mi rincón a otro lado.

Ese sitio lejano donde el alma vuela,

donde la paz nunca se acaba,

donde ya no cuesta vivir,

donde ya no me canse,

donde todo es bello,

en las alas de Dios,

en mi lugar,

lejano.

Mientras,

pasa el tiempo,

y yo me asomo aún,

en ese rincón tan hermoso,

de un alma que se cansa de vivir.

May i die in my sleep,
for the words I’ve been told.
Their Blades are stained with my blood.
Harsher words don’t stab me anymore,
But the emptiness does
Before i cut my heart open
I wish they would **** me
While i sleep soundly