Because of the color of the wheat fields

...it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. 

I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. 

-Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

"Oh, it's him", I said interrupting the conversation, and getting the door.

He walked in, more confused than impressed, and asked, "How did you know it was me? You didn't even see who it was. I could've been a murderer." The other people in the room agreed nodding their heads; apparently no one had heard him trying to open the door.

My immediate answer was "It just sounds different when you unlock the door."

But instead I said, "I just knew."

Being Special

Everyone wants to be special.

Everyone, whether it's hidden deep inside the core of their soul, or right on the  the surface of their skin, owns an intrinsic need to feel unique. Different.

But isn't this little twinkling wish of rarity

exactly

what makes us all

the same?

Foreshadowing

    I will see him again. I will smile a restrained smile because feeling things too deeply in public embarrasses me. He will smile too. But probably not. Maybe he’ll keep it at bay as well. We’ll probably hug briefly and pretend we saw each other only two days ago. Because what kind of self-respecting person  hugs and cries and laughs and  kisses indecorously in front of people nowadays? We’ll fight briefly about who gets to carry the heavier luggage, and we’ll talk about mere trifles on our way home. Oh my gosh it’s so hot here. Cute dress. Nice pants. How was the flight. Did you get to sleep. The food was bad. Driving here sucks. How’s your mom. How’s yours.

Anything to avoid saying what we really want to say.

Then we’ll get home. This is the living room, this is the kitchen. Look, how tiny the bathroom is. That’s your dresser. Remember this vase?

Doors closed, luggage down, backpacks off. Now we can be us and hug, and cry and laugh and kiss. I’ll wrap my arms around his lower back ‘cause I’m so short. I’ll burry my nose in the base of his neck and breathe in the long lost smell of worn hoodies, and t-shirts, and blankets and everything warm and sexy and cozy. We’ll grunt softly and feel the vibration tickle from one chest to another not knowing who birthed it first. I’ll feel his stubble pricking my forehead, he’ll feel my nails clawing his shirt. My stomach will be heavy, my knees will start to fail.

Then one of us will say it. Maybe it will be him, maybe it’ll be me. The words will come out  slow, raspy, honest, maybe a little bruised. It will sting on the throat as much as it will in the heart, like ripping a bandaid off a wound.

“I missed you”,

I’ll say, or he’ll say.

And I’ll try hard not to cry.  

Let me talk about bubbles

“…yo amo los mundos sutiles,
ingrávidos y gentiles,
como pompas de jabón.”

        -Antonio Machado

     These trembling spheres contain all the magic and excitement of the hands yearning to hold them. Admit it, your heart cracks a little every time they pop. Like a microscopic twinge on your soul.

They are born thick and quivering, as if they were about to burst out laughing. As if the breath that gave them life hid the happiest secret in the universe. Frail and flirty they make you want to be weightless with them and vanish in a sigh, leaving a glint of magic and a taste of color in the air.

I can’t keep my inner child on her leash whenever I see them giggling through the wind. Untouched by gravity, untouched by sorrow, careless and free.

I wish I could turn into nothing and ride them to the endless sky where we would gently fade away with one last laugh, and then be gone.

Accidental Photobombing

    Have you ever wondered how many unknown pictures of you are there in the world? I have. And I am not talking about the sum of the pictures I upload on Facebook plus the ones I refuse to share. No. I'm talking about ALL the pictures that, without me knowing, I get to be in. How many cute romantic selfies, family pictures, and vacation shots in the whole entire world have the privilege (or misfortune) to have my face in them?

If I could get to find every single one of those pictures and display it in chronological order, what kind of life story would they be showing? Would I be surprised? Embarrassed? Would it be accurate? Misleading?

I wonder if there is somebody in Greenland, Cairo, or Borneo with a pretty epic portrait of a family trip where my presence is part of the sea of nameless faces that conform the trivial background.

It really does intrigue me. How many millions of accidental photo-bombs am I part of? How many countries has my anonymous face visited so far?

I guess I’ll never know.

Dreams that I dream 1

      This afternoon, while dozing off, I dreamed I was walking at night in the square of an outdoor mall. It was very well lit with bright street lamps and full of colorful people that walked around. There I ran into my ex-boyfriend who, happy to see me, greeted me with a warm hug. In the same way I asked him how he was, how his wife and children were, and if he knew that another of our high school friends had also come to the country to visit. Happily he answered my many questions and said that he had already ran into our mutual friend. We began to talk and philosophize and he said that these days people were always walking around worried about keeping their jobs or about getting a new one. That they worried about  the safety of their families, about trying to connect with others without exposing too much to the public  to avoid gossip, and that we live like animals, with our survival instincts right on the surface, with the constant dilemma between attacking or defending ourselves. That sometimes he  thought it was healthier to simply move  away and assume a low profile life. To this I replied that human beings really could’ve been able to live a safe, quiet and submissive life feeding on bread and silence. We could walk around with our eyes fixed on the sidewalks with no contact nor conflict, numbing every instinct, suppressing attacks and denying any hint of our animal side. But unfortunately (or luckily) by the simple fact of being alive, and being people, we have assumed the most daring, defying, dangerous and bloodthirsty of all challenges —To Think.

And then I woke up.

* Note: That was really the way a dreamed it. I felt so shocked and puzzled when I woke up that I had to write it down

Now, can anybody tell me what in the world wast that about?