miércoles, 25 de enero de 2012

Odio que tengas un nombre tan comun.

Odio que tengas un nombre tan hermoso.

Odio haberte pedido que em agregaras a Facebook.

Odio tenerte a un click y que no me des ni un click de regreso.

Odio pensarte y esperanzarme contigo.

Odio escucharte en cada sitio.

Odio que tu nombre me miente la madre cada dos segundos.

sometimes i think i'm gay...

sometimes i pray to be gay
Ojala que te vaya bonito
ojala que se acaben tus penas
que te digan que yo ya no existo
que conozcas personas mas buenas
que te den lo que no pude darte
aunque yo te haya dado de todo
nunca mas volvere a molestarte
te adore te perdi ya ni modo
cuantas cosas quedaron prendidas
hasta dentro del fondo de mi alma
cuantas luces dejaste encendidas
y yo no se como voy a apagarlas
ojala que mi amor no te duela
y te olvides de mi para siempre
que se llenen de sangre tus venas
y te vista la vida de suerte
yo no se si tu ausencia me mate
aunque tengo mi pecho de acero
pero nadie me llame cobarde
sin saber hsta donde la quiero
cuantas cosas quedaron prendidas
muy adentro del fondo de mi alma
cuantas luces dejaste encendidas
yo no se como voy a apagarlas
ojala que te vaya bonito

What are the stars made of?

There are certain facts in life that nobody tells you when you are young: Santa doesn't exist, your dad is not superman, your mom is not a saint, white lies are no so bad after all and no matter how hard you try or want something, sometimes you just can't get it.

When I was young my mother used to say to encourage me that I can do or get whatever I wanted. Well, another thing they don't say is that sometimes our parents are wrong or just don't know what to say so the say what they thing is right or they just lie and pray to you to not notice it.

I sent the letter. The mos important letter of my whole life. My heart, hope, dreams, more longing wishes, and all those plans and life and... EVERYTHING WAS THERE on an yellow envelope with post stamps. I sent the letter.

The answer was a complete silence, indifference, nothing, nothing at all.

My hopes covered in yellow paper are lost. Irrevocably lost.

Now, where should I go?

I guess that something else you discover when you grew up is that stars are made of recycled helium and hydrogen, and yes, there are a kind o magic on them but no the one you are looking for.

martes, 10 de enero de 2012