Plagios radiofónicos

Puedo extender mis manos si estás perdida

y en un abrazo suave encontrarte.

Puedo mirarte a los ojos profundamente,

y al verte triste, penetrar más allá de lo que veo.

Puedo hablarte desde el corazón

y llenarte el alma con mis palabras para ayudarte.

Puedo llorar tus tristezas y transformarlas junto a las mías

en risas, respetando los silencios.

Puedo hacer menos dura tu soledad

compartiendo más momentos de tu vida.

Puedo quererte pero puedo rechazarte,

puedo esperarte pero puedo cansarme de soñarte.

Puedo estar, ser tu amigo y compartir

todos los momentos intermedios

de tu vida. Incluso amarte

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Fears

I'm afraid of becoming different. I'm fearful of one morning being another person, of thinking too much, of questioning everything and trying to get away melancholy. I'm terrified of knowing everyone, of saying hello to all those people and remembering their names, of not being timid, of being a kind and friendly person the people says I am. Of course, I am not that. I don't keep a smile on my life; neither is nice nor sexy. I am too worried about thinking all time, about the conversations with myself and the healthy practices of waking up early, reading a lot, exercise and not eat meat. What will happen to me in this way? What will I become on this road? What will I do with the vacuum of no pain? I don't want to be that handsome guy, I don't want the cute smiling I see on the mirrors every morning, I don't want to smell sweet. I don't know what is happening; I don't know what is different now. I want my obscure Mondays; I need my unsolved dramas, th...

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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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