Love… What is love? Is the measure of love loss? Is the measure of love meaning? Is the measure of love pain? Is the measure of love pleasure? Is love any different from life? Are these two things a team? Maybe the same thing. They so often seem the same…

A dance. Solo or with a partner. As beautiful as one can imagine it, make it, stage it. As intense as the energy you put in it. As passionate as the moves You and I invent, combined. As unique as Me. As unique as Us. As unique as all of us, plus one. Not strictly making a whole, not strictly putting things together, not strictly different from non-love or non-life… Just a sense of togetherness that doesn’t change anything, but changes everything. Because change is an individual’s perception, temporal, and always relative. And so is isolation and everything else…perception, but not reality.

It’s a paradox.

You have to disappear to be present.


She will die too soon.
Thousands will cry her passing away.
El mundo enmudecerá y las calles permanecerán desiertas.

–She will be missed–

All the creatures from forests, seas and underworld will raise their heads to the sky.
Sus lágrimas no terminarán nunca.
Los rayos de sol palidecerán y la luna se esconderá.
El doloroso blanco y negro de la realidad la acompañará en su pérdida.

–She will be missed in many different ways–

Pero este velo no permanecerá…
Y quedará en poco más de una ilusión,
una pesadilla diurna, un dramatismo temporal.
La calidez que encontraron en el día a día,
esa sí.

– She will be missed, in many different ways. In a new one everyday–
As she was once loved, she will be missed.


A finger tracing a curve. A hand moving towards my heart. A whisper saying something my ear cannot understand. A wave of warmth that falls on my body as if a blanket had just been laid upon me. Two arms raising my back. A tickling caress on my face, pitch dark as the night that is watching over me now.

Clothes that rustle. Conversations that stop, memories that fade away, images that vanish, chaos that crumbles.

Movement, life happening.

Eyes closed that find. Mind that disentangles. Emotions that do not recognise themselves. Duality that ceased.         .

A name.

And many other words. Words that could hurt, that could heal, that excite, that surprise, that make you smile, that make no sense. That maybe are not real words. Words that I understand and words that I don’t, but that I learnt.

Other words that I’m making up as I go. But the same meaning behind all of them.

And a name.

All we need

That same story again. Echoing in my head, like a long forgotten dream that comes back after years of lying under the radar of my consciousness. The face of that beautiful girl, hiding behind another one with a stronger heart. Those eyes so full of desire and dreams, and that body, so sweet but always immobilised by fear. That trembling that seemed to make the dress dance on its own. It’s not unheard of, the pain lingering in the traits of the soul.

I knew.

She was afraid of love. And I wanted to pour onto her everything in the world there was to give. I wanted to show her that a love that would never leave existed, a love that was more resilient than any belief, than reality itself. A love that could finally convince her about the triumph of goodness. A love that could protect her from every danger, imagined and real. A love that could mirror the beauty that remained hidden to her eyes.

And more than anything else, I know I wanted to prove to myself that I was right. Right to believe, right to have faith, right to have hope.

But when I looked at my hands, I found them empty. Beyond that emptiness, there was nothing. There was nothing they could keep, nothing that would remain. Nothing that could be kept or given away. It could have been a nightmare, but it wasn’t.

It was something better than what I had known, for I discovered the power of my hands. My hands, all I would ever have.

They were all I needed; I could reach out, touch, take, let go and receive. I could build, destroy and reshape.

It was enough. I could hold someone else’s hand.

It was enough. Enough to ask her for a dance.

Quiero un amor en mi vida

Quiero un amor que solo dure mi presente. Quiero un amor que sea la mejor historia de amor, con un poco de todas las demás. Quiero un amor que me haga respirar más fuerte, soñar sueños más grandes y vivir con mayor intensidad. Quiero un amor que me haga llorar por las mejores razones, aunque sean dolorosas. Quiero un amor que me haga pedazos y que luego me enseñe a reconstruirme. Quiero un amor que cure mis heridas y ame las cicatrices. Quiero un amor al que le gusten los silencios llenos de miradas. Quiero un amor que encuentre mi corazón en cada detalle. Quiero un amor que confíe en mí aun cuando no me entienda. Quiero un amor al que poder acariciar día y noche. Quiero un amor que se crezca con mis sonrisas y mis besos. Quiero un amor que no quiera que deje de quererle. Quiero un amor que me encuentre cuando estoy perdida y me despierte con su despertar. Quiero un amor al que poder enseñar mis mil mundos de recuerdos, fantasías y esperanzas. Quiero un amor que sea adicto a mis palabras. Quiero un amor que se encuentre cuando está conmigo. Quiero un amor al que poder decir cuánto le quiero sin tener que medir mi entusiasmo. Quiero un amor que quiera un amor parecido al mío. Quiero un amor que me dé tanto como yo le dé. Quiero un amor que yo crea es mayor que el mío para competir todos los días dándole más. Quiero la probabilidad improbable. Quiero la fuerza imparable. Quiero ese momento eterno. Quiero la persona que mi mente no habría podido imaginar y que mi corazón no pararía de buscar. Quiero vivir en la dulzura de esa persona que da un poco más de sentido a la vida. Quiero un amor como el que creí encontrar en su día. Solo que lo quiero para todos los que me quedan.

Warm feathers of hope

My Mom once told me a story about the real angels that came to save us. They didn’t have wings. They didn’t all sing with sweet voices. They didn’t stay forever by our side. They weren’t always beautiful and graceful. They didn’t have amazing lives.

She told me that angels were as imperfect as I were. But she also told me that I would be able to recognise them, and that whenever I thought I had found one, I had to stick to that belief, because I’d always be right.

I followed her advice, and I’ve found too many to count. My Mom didn’t lie; sometimes they were gorgeous, but sometimes they weren’t. There were some that were scary too. Their voices weren’t always sweet and gentle, people didn’t turn their heads when seeing them pass by. They weren’t happy all the time and they didn’t change everybody’s life. They didn’t stay forever in my life either. But in my memory, they remain. Because I could spot them. Because I could tell they were angels, and they knew I knew too.

Sometimes we are alone, sometimes we are miserable, sometimes we are lost. But nothing lasts forever. Another angel might be looking at you right now.

Can you tell who is it?