Everything we were

Of the earthquake we were, I remained as the crevice. Exposed. With that sound cracking me from inside. Although maybe it were my ribs while breathing. Of the storm we were, I remained as the drop, that became big like a pond, that nobody knew, but that was deeper and not just a reflection. Of…

Me. Love. 

Art is creation, is the self-expression of the misunderstood. Art is suffering, some days it transforms into spring flowers and winter laughs, but some days it remains suffering. Mirrors are a trembling reminder of war. Personal and sentimental. Loneliness. Sometimes they are your only friend. Water fills our soul, sleep reduces the pain in it….

It’s 4 a.m. and I’ve lost my sense of time

Originally posted in Spanish on our site Letras & Poesía It’s four o’clock in the morning. I have lost my sense of time, I don’t know how many hours I’ve already spent here sitting on the floor, writing in my computer, but all I know is I’ve never felt like this before. Tranquility reigns all around…