Mira corazón cuanto te extraño pasan dias, pasan años y mi vida se revienta como pompas de jabon Como pude haberte yo herido engañarte y ofendido alma gemela no te olvido aunque me arranque el corazón
Mana (via maybeyourehigh)
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@maybeyourehigh
Mira corazón cuanto te extraño pasan dias, pasan años y mi vida se revienta como pompas de jabon Como pude haberte yo herido engañarte y ofendido alma gemela no te olvido aunque me arranque el corazón
Mana (via maybeyourehigh)
Did you know the colors would dim
the moment you walked away?
You left a hollow in my chest,
it echos night and day.
Will there come a dawn
when you no longer haunt my mind?
A day in which your name drifts past
without sending shivers down my spine?
Eres un sueño que se me cumplió aunque fue solo por un instante.
Rachel Eliza Griffiths, from Seeing the Body: Poems; “Mirror”
[Text ID: “Your memory / as simple as a puddle. Like / the moon or sun / or face that possesses me, / you won’t leave.”]
appreciate the little things
Lo admito: tu boca no me gustó la primera vez.
Sentí tus labios como frontera, los míos, un idioma extranjero que tus besos no sabían hablar.
Pero algo en mí —terco, terco como el deseo—me gritó: inténtalo otra vez.
Quizá no era cuestión de labios, sino de tiempo. De piel. De coraje.
Te busqué con la mirada y me subí sobre ti. No dije nada. Dejé que mi cuerpo preguntara si el tuyo tenía la respuesta.
Esta vez, tus brazos rodearon mi cintura, mis manos se enredaron en tu pelo, y nuestros labios tomaron el control.
Louise Glück, from "October" in Poems 1962-2012
𝙣 𝙚 𝙥 𝙩 𝙪 𝙣 𝙚
Chamula, Chiapas (February 2025)
You don’t know how to receive love— and unfortunately, that comes with the casualty of not knowing how to give it either.
~ encendiste un fuego que no pudiste sostener ~
I understand, you know…
In the moment, emptiness can fill rooms — and leave space for nothing else.
But once it’s over, life needs no more room than the smallness at the edge of your fingertips to show you the universe.
To show you wholeness. To make you feel what sirens sound like, what stars shine like, what being alive should feel like.
And maybe, the ache was nothing more than the echo of something sacred leaving your body.
Maybe the silence was a doorway, or a stillness you were meant to move through.
Maybe healing isn’t loud or fast or linear — maybe it’s soft and abstract like the light peeking through your curtains on mornings when you almost give up.
Maybe life had been waiting to take your hand again. And now you not need do more than let it absorb you.