Encontré que volví a encontrar

He vuelto a encontrar la poesía

Y no es que haya alejado la inspiración

Tal vez abandonada en una canción

Tal vez despilfarrada en la cortesía

He vuelto a encontrar la poesía

Tal vez perdida en un cajón viejo

Tal vez arrumbada tras el espejo

Tal vez alejada del alma mía

He vuelto a encontrar la poesía

Y no en los ojos ajenos a mí

Y no en los labios cercanos a ti

Y no en la simple hipocresía

He vuelto a encontrar mi poesía

Para escribir maravillas del mundo

Podría describir el cielo nocturno

Pero esa no es la inspiración que me guía

He vuelto a encontrar la poesía

Y esta vez será siempre mía

Y esta vez no correrá tan lejos

Y esta vez no la guardaré tras el espejo

No es más que promesas mías

No es una simple poesía

Es encontrar la armonía

De la felicidad de cada día

Donde las situaciones perdidas y los momentos encontrados trataban de mezclarse lo menos posible.

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Writing again

Dear JC, It's peculiar, isn't it, how the mind clings to memories, especially those we wish to forget? Some nights, I find myself ensnared in a web of dreams, each thread woven with echoes of you. You, who dominated my thoughts, still reign in the kingdom of my nighttime musings. I remember, with an unsettling clarity, every encounter, every word, and every smirk. The way your laughter would echo down hallways, a haunting melody that played on all my strings. The cold glint in your eyes as you found new ways to assert your dominance, your power, unyielding and absolute. In these dreams, I revisit those days, each detail meticulously preserved in the museum of my mind. The corridors, once mundane, now seem like twisted labyrinths in my dreams, with you as the ever-present Minotaur, both feared and revered. Sometimes, I wonder if you ever think of those days. Do you ever recall the weight of your words and actions? Or have they dissolved into the ether, insignificant and forgotte...

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