I’m playing with
the little globe
at my writing desk.
I let it spin
and spin
and spin
and...
I pause.
I suddenly feel too
small.
How many places
have not been discovered
yet?
How many lands?
I keep telling myself
how pointless and
worthless my existence
must be
in a universe
like this.
In the silence,
the beating of my heart
can almost exceed
the noise of my thoughts.
Each pulse is stronger
than ever.
We are told that
the heart is the same
size as the fist.
My hands are not that
big and so
neither is my heart.
I keep forgetting
its value, though.
Isn’t the heart also
an undiscovered land?
Sure, the doctors
could tell me all
its functions one by one.
They could illustrate me
its structure to a tee.
But they don’t know
the reasons why a heart
keeps beating even
when it’s tired.
Or why it doesn’t break
when it cracks.
Tell me about the way it
loves me even when I don’t,
even when I’ve hurt it.
I want to know why
it doesn’t explode
when it is so full of passion.
Isn’t it grand?
Isn’t this enough?
I am the universe.

You were the moon,
I was the astronaut.
I waited years
to taste you.
I finally reached you
but I could only touch you
between a jump and another.

When you lose
someone you love
you turn the color
of glass.
Colorless.
I thought the absence
of all colors was black.
It’s not.
I am.
When you lose
someone you love
you turn the shape
of glass.
Sharp.
Broken and splintered,
ready to hurt anyone
who only dares
to come a little bit
closer.

Our mind is so
mysterious at night.
It travels to someplace
far away
and come back before
we can even realize.
We don’t remember
the journey,
neither the space-time
continuum in which
we’ve been projected.
At times I ask myself
if my real life is
the one I live in my
dreams.
If what we call reality
is in reality a dream.
We are just wanderers
searching for a place to call
ours.
We are not at home
in our own homes.
When we lay in bed
at night
we seek something
in which we’ll fit.
Something that will suit us
perfectly.
And then we wake up.
Our shelter cracks
and we are driven
into our miserable lives.
Again.
So what is the
aim of all that
wandering?

You, creature of
heaven.
Object of my
desire.
Soft voice,
rose lips.
Body shaped like
ocean.
Your curves: the waves.
In you
the storm and
the quiet.
Sunrise and
sunset.
Sunshine and
rain.
Childish and
grownup.
And all in one word:

W o m a n

Life is a game between
you and yourself.
You are going to lose
at some point anyway.
Find something worth
losing for.
What would make
your defeat compelling?
Grab it and call it
a victory.

The gaze between
two souls that
see each other
naked
for the first
time.