Silence

I thought I knew silence
I always thought of it as the absence of sound
I thought I knew silence before
Before that night
Before that night I thought I’d been silent
I thought I’d heard and enjoyed silence
But there’s always something to listen to
Be it a cricket, a thought or the waves crushing and calling for you (I’ve always loved that sound)
Snow gently falling, that’s the closest I’ve ever been to silence, but always crunching branches break the quietness of it
Until that night I thought all that, was silence (that was my concept)
That night my dreams were stolen form me
That night fears I never thought I had showed their face
That night I fell, and no safety net caught me
No known hand broke my fall
I hit the floor that night, and it hurt
In every cell (sometimes it still hurts, it’s funny how cells can remember)
With a rope around my neck and a stranger on my back
I met silence
I struggled at first, not physically but in my mind
Thoughts and words crossed my mind, unorganized, incoherent
I didn’t see my life moving backwards at amazing high speed nor a blinding light appeared
I remember the cold, I remember suffocating
I felt fear
I recalled words of those whom I love
I remembered the moment I said I would ride Steffie’s bike that day
I remembered how I love raspberries and how much I hate olives (but I still eat them)
Then I gave in to silence
I floated in darkness and felt the void that destroys everything (a black hole sucking life out of myself) and I was not myself anymore, at least not the self I had known and designed a life for
BLANK (I assume I’ve lost consciousness)
Stranger let go, stranger let go of me
Left me there
Laying alone
On the floor
And for the first time I understood and felt what it meant to feel broken inside
To feel in a million pieces
Facing silence
Soon broken by sirens and silly questions, white coats, examinations and questions
How could I not be confussed and overwhelmed?
Maybe I got too distracted with my overwhelmed head that I was unable to catch a face or notice a distinct feature so that I could describe Stranger, maybe it was denial
And I was blamed for that, by cops, by friends, even by myself
For sometime I wished I’d remembered
Sick obsession
I got stuck in that moment
Felt like the same day everyday, more of a nightmare I’d say
Files and phone calls and police forms to fill up
Impersonal rooms and uncomfortable chairs
Tears and pain bigger than my chest
Questions and questions and questions again…. and no answers to me
I got tired, I got sick of myself
So I chose life
I chose to rebuild myself
I gathered the pieces I left on the floor of that parking place on the back of a hotel
I didn’t know where to start from, but I started
It’s been over a year now since that night, and probably I will never know who that stranger was or the reasons he had to do that to me, if there can be a reason for that
But I am happy I chose life over victim
And I am glad when I close my eyes I have no face or name to fear
Now I can close them knowing that I live, and that the smile once stolen from me is back on my face (the hardest piece to ever put back in place)

To You/Me

scared - I stand in front of you - watching, waiting, staring at you - thoughts begin to flow - thoughts of rage and anger - of broken illusions, scattered dreams and guilt - then I speak out with a silent scream - then you reply with a silent grin - and I blame you - I blame you for it all - for my fears and insecurities - for my happiness and misery - yes, I blame you for all that and more - I do not want to hear, I do not want to listen - so I cover my ears with my hands - with your hands - but your voice is mine – so I can`t - and flesh is weak - words are thick and sharp at times - and they cut deep inside - they cut strings and chords in my head, in my heart - but I am still standing - waiting, hating, bleeding inside - still blaming you, still - loving you - and I face you - and only you - hating the way you mimic - loathing the way you play along - amazed by the way you listen - and you always do - reflecting me – reflecting the ugliness and the beauty of my innocence lost long ago - but I do forgive you, for it is me - and not God who is to forgive - and I promise I will try and learn - like I did uncountable times before - (not that I do not mean it, but you know how we humans can be) - then I turn and step away - from you, from me - a mirror in a room of my own

The Writer

It´s you that I read
It`s your words that I need
We walk heading nowhere
We talk saying nothing
But it`s you who I follow

Me encanta leerte
Me encanta tenerte
No importa la distancia
Se que te tengo
Y te quiero, sin nostalgia

A Book

You are sure that I could
and you know that I would
I did follow you down that road
the one that you paved with your own words
the one that led me to the woods
where you grow trees that hold a story in every leaf
told as it falls down to the ground
re-told with every gust of wind
murmuring around Alice´s shoes
left by the hollowed yet alive oak
where rabbits and china dwell
foolish lure past the hole
just an illusion to distract me from it
it...the tiny window
an opening to your mind hidden behind a cabinet
but I can see
and it grows bigger in size as I approach to it
and right is no longer right and left is on the other side
far away from the Queen`s garden where you are King and Pawn
and the skies are not blue but hold the colors of your mood
so I walk through the window
and I see you
the essence of you
I read you

On my way......