"Y tu castigo será tener que ser tú misma"

To the celebration of all slain hope

"i've wanted to tell you for a while now. 

i wanted to say it as you reached for a tea cup in your kitchen that night after we fought about 'why-do-we-always-have-to-eat-chinese-fo­od-on-your-floor?' and then made up... 

i wanted to say it as the moonlight shone on you as you slept in your bed the first time we made love there... 

when i felt your heart racing against my chest in your suite foyer in spain when you first saw your roses even though i wasn't there... 

but mostly, i wanted to say it the last night i saw you, 

as i held you in my arms; 

looking down at your precious face, 

knowingly looking up at me, 

still inside you. 

quiet, 

motionless 

but so inside you. 

i wanted so badly to tell you that... 

the words, each time, graced my lips like an impostor, 

only to fall away like some great blizzard that was taken out to sea to rain its fury on the dark ocean, 

alone, 

unbeknownst to any hearing. 

i pray that you can hear them for what they are, 

feel them for what they are, 

and not mar them with the knowledge that they stand apart from your ability to reciprocate them... 

please take them in your heart and feel them with your eyes closed and your soul open... 

for just a moment, 

my voice speaking them softly in your ear with a kiss... 

when you smile, 

when your head lightly moves to dance, 

when your tongue finds my lips, 

when you ramble over a glass of wine, 

when you sit naked after we've made love, 

when you act boldly, 

when you laugh, 

when you squeeze my hand, 

when you call my name in a gruff whisper, 

when your heart races on my chest in a close embrace, 

when you love me... 

what i'm sad about is selfish. 

i'm sad at god's timing. 

i am only a man. 

and as a man, i miss you. 

i miss you terribly. 

i miss your kiss. 

i miss your smile, 

oh, how i miss your smile. 

but most of all i miss the moment that hasn't happened yet. 

the moment when you let yourself fall for me. 

what makes it hard for me is knowing how much you care for me. 

how much, in a way, you do love me. 

how much you would enjoy smiling wryly as you hurled yourself backwards off the cliff 

and said, 'catch me baby.' 

if i didn't know that i could make you a villain, 

me a victim and sooth myself. 

but i can't because it isn't the truth. 

the truth, we both know... 

the truth is... 

not today... 

i know that you're not leaving philippe for me, 

and i wouldn't want you to. 

i would want you to leave him for you. 

i also know you would never fly a million miles just to see me smile at you. 

someday maybe, but not today. 

so i guess i better disappear, sarah. 

i know you'll be okay, 

and soon i will be too. 

and maybe, just maybe, if god so desires, 

a day will come when, 

as friends, we will find ourselves accidentally strolling along the white cliffs of dover, 

or the mountain rocks of mendocino, 

or the bonnie, emerald north of the scottish seaboard 

or the glistening harbor of old new york...

and from the heights, 

in the stars, 

amongst the angels whose arms will cradle us, 

in a moment neither of us was told about but knew like our oldest happiness, 

we will look into each other's eyes and know... 

it is today. 

it is today. 

and whether that day is tomorrow, 

or next week, 

or next year, 

or next lifetime... 

i will finally get to tell you to your sweet face; 

the face i will miss more than i could ever tell, that... 

i love you. 

and you'll smile wryly, 

close your eyes, 

say 'catch me baby,' 

and fall."

to the celebration of all slain hope

It's the very end of the movie, "Fall" by Eric Schaeffer (1997). 

No copyright infringement intended.

Song heard is Amanda Kravat - Green (You Can't Touch Me)

Fuente 

De verdad

"La quiso con el triste amor que inspiran las personas que no nos quieren".

Jorge Luis Borges

"'¡Se acabó!', dijo Max, y envió a los monstruos a la cama sin cenar. Y Max, el rey de todos los monstruos, se sintió solo y quería estar donde alguien lo quisiera más que a nadie". 

Maurice Sendak: Where the wild things are.

"Tiene la sensación de estar herido. Tiene la sensación de que, pausada, constantemente, algo se está desgarrando en su interior: una pared, una membrana. Intenta controlarse todo lo que puede para que la cisura no se abra más de lo debido. Para que no se abra más de lo debido, no para frenarla: nada la frenará".

J. M. Coetzee: Infancia (fragmento).

Un poco

"No soy mucho pero soy todo."

Muy segura de mi inseguridad te miro desde mí, desde el hueco que puedo ser. Un fondo, casi transparente, de nada. Me sonrojo cuando lo noto. No tengo nada que decir aunque puedo hablar sin parar de lo que no entiendo o de lo que no es y de lo que me desconcierta. Te digo "ha sido un placer conocerte" y te ríes discretamente y me arrepiento un poco. Piensas que soy anticuada o boba. No me veo así. Siempre puedo crear un discurso que explique favorablemente mi comportamiento, sólo dame tiempo, mucho tiempo, ¿sí? Me alegra saber que puedo irme lejos y no sufrir. Diré, no a ti, que tenía la intención de suspender el tiempo para contemplarte y que tu risa mala lo arruinó. Adiós.

Esquirla de hielo en el corazón

"En el cuento, muy conocido, de Andersen, del joven Kay que huyó de la Reina de las Nieves, le queda una esquirla de hielo en las venas, una esquirla que lo atormenta el resto de su vida. Mi madre de cabello blanco fue la Reina de las Nieves de Vasco, a la que él amaba y de la que, presa de enfurecida humillación, huyó por fin, con una fría esquirla de amargura en la sangre; que siguió doliéndole, bajando la temperatura de su cuerpo y congelando su corazón en otro tiempo cálido."






Salman Rushdie: El último suspiro del Moro (fragmento)