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 I woke up today very early, far too early. My brain buzzing with noise and rambling thoughts.

I thought of you first, unfortunately. I miss you, I said to myself, but I still don't know how much of that is true. I miss you and I wonder if you feel the same. Sometimes I want to think that you do, because that would make me feel better and it's a totally selfish thing to think. It doesn't matter anyway, even if you miss me I guess I'd rather not knowing. Because if I do, if I know you miss me, I'd want to go back to you and that would be the worst idea I'd had in a long time. I know, or a part of me knows, that we're not good together, that even if I tried to explain who I am time and time again, you only listened to the part you understood; I know you didn't see me, not really. You had an idea of me that I'm sure I never filled in, or maybe you just wanted to see some sort of reflection that you couldn't find. I wanted empathy, you wanted confrontation. It is sad, really, to see now that our differences were so basic. I was willing, you see, to meet you at least halfway, to show you that I'm worth the trouble, the work that you were never going to put in. It hurt. That's actually what hurt the most, realising that I wasn't worth it for you. For a while, for what it seemed like a very long time, I blamed myself for that, I thought I just wasn't enough. Enough of an intelectual, enough of a feminist, enough of a guy, just enough. It's been taking everything I have to take myself out of that loop and start feeling like I deserve what I want. It sucks. It sucks to still feel like I miss you, like I want to say so many things to you and knowing that it's all for nothing, that talking to you would only result in you asking me questions that only you have the answer for, and that will only satisfy you, that having you back in any way would only break me. It makes me sad, because at more than one point I actually thought we were at least compatible.

Then, my mind drifted away. It came back to what the day to day is and felt overwhelmingly tired. I got angry thinking that I've come too far to teach a kid how to live with other. I want to feel at home and I don't, I feel like I have to repeat myself again and again and again with the most basic of things. It angers me, it tires me, I'm becoming so weary that I want to leave and never come back. I want my space back. It is not that I don't want to share, it's that I don't want to teach someone else how to do so. I don't have children, I don't want'em, I have no patiente for them and now I'm living with one, a 20-something year-old child who is not even willing to listen. Damn, I feel invisible. All I get is "I'm sorry", "I didn't think", "be patient"... my patience is wearing out and even if I'm trying my best to keep my cool, I really don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to raise a child, I don't want to have to give rules that are just simply common freaking sense.Yet, here I am, not knowing what to do with the anger of living with someone that I despise in this capacity.

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A Gala

Te estás volviendo recurrente, cada vez que cierro los ojos veo los tuyos en vez de los míos. El bosque detrás de tus pupilas se hace real y yo me interno en tu búsqueda. Haz hablado conmigo de mil cosas que conoces y todas ellas han sido reales al despertar. Me pregunto si estarás ahí cuando me hagas falta... me has dicho que sí. Te he soñado como nunca, una vez tras otra en instantes inconexos que se vuelven obsesivos cuando abro los ojos y entiendo que no fueron en verdad. ¿Lo fueron? Ayer me dijiste que volverías, lo hiciste con tus labios contra mi oreja, mi subconsciente te creyó. Hoy desperté con el pecho vacío, como si algo me hubiese robado el aliento mientras dormía, recordé que estuviste en mis sueños... Todo lo que queda son preguntas con respuestas perdidas en el tiempo. Lo sé, está cerca...

Y...

No he dejado de escribirte. Estás en cada una de mis páginas, mis letras se han plagado de tu escencia y mi alma se ha quedado en el papel esperando sentirte de nuevo. No he dejado de pensarte. Cada vez que mis ojos se topan con el sol te recuerdan, ven el cielo queriendo encontrarte en las nubes y admiran la noche con el ardiente deseo de contemplarte otra vez. No he dejado de soñarte. He vivido entre fantasías, he amoldado mi realidad a mi ficción eterna, he construido un planeta aparte en el que nadie entra, nadie... excepto tú. Así fue que viviendo yo en la espesura de mi bosque ficticio te encontré en mi mundo y no te miré como a una extraña. Así fue que te volviste parte de mi apenas mis ojos notaron a los tuyos y te será imposible salir de mis sueños. Yo no he dejado de tenerte... ni en mis palabras, ni en mi mente, ni en mis sueños. Ahora mi mundo está plagado de ti, mi alma está abrazada por la tuya y yo estoy irremediablemente perdida en tus suspiros.

Drew

Era un ser pequeñito, chaparro y flaquito, o así me lo pareció. Sus ojos enormes me miraron por primera vez en el salón donde solíamos reunirnos con los demás, estaba escondido entre las sombras, con sus manitas verdes apenas saliendo de la túnica negra grisácea que siempre usaba, pegadas ambas a los costados de su cuerpo, su gran nariz sobresalía con su fleco amarillo anaranjado de la capucha que nunca se quita. No conozco su rostro, tengo que admitirlo, he visto sus ojos porque brillan, pero nunca he visto su rostro. Camina chistoso, como dando brinquitos, sus pies rara vez salen de la túnica que arrastra por todos lados. Nada le acompleja, anda siempre sonriente, lo cual es raro para un ser de tan pequeña estatura y tanta extrañeza. No habla, apenas suelta uno que otro sondillo casi chillón, todo lo dice con gestos, es un maestro para darse a entender con las manos. Escribe con cierta solemnidad, en una letra barroca, recargada de florituras, como si fuera una pequeña imprenta de h...