SUSTRACCIÓN

Este espacio colecciona escritos en español e inglés, imágenes y representaciones artísticas que se sustraen de mis experiencias personales y profesionales. This blog provides a space to present writings, both in English and Spanish, images and artistic representation that are sustracted from my daily life. Edgar Meza

[tylerknott]

I need nothing more, I’d walk barefoot through the world if I walked with you.

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)

[wnq-quoteoftheday]

Rachel C Lewis | @wnq-quoteoftheday | @wordsnquotes

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Oh how I smile.

oh the way I smile the way we smile  as we look into each other’s eyes  it makes me smile  every time  as if we were always  looking into each other’s eyes

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A sip of tea.

I lit my cigarette. I looked out the window and I witnessed what to everyone else was a beautiful November afternoon. I got lost in dreams about me and you. In my mind we traveled together, we got drunk together, we lost track of time together, we smiled together; very much like we already do. I half smiled and I took a sip of tea. I noticed the weather, I went for a sweater and I went back for my cup of tea. I lit the stove, I leaned in to light another cig, I poured the tea back to the kettle and without any regard I waited; very much like I always do, I waited.

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Scent.

Button by button, stroke by stroke; for a moment we fell for one another, once again. Every move was impregnated with the faint smell of familiarity, but rediscovering your aroma and the textures of your skin made me feel anew. My lips knew every curve, my fingers had learned every turn, I was cruising all over your body, enjoying the view. “me encantas” here. “me encantas” there Enchanted all the way.    

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Foreign Land

“What are you thinking?” “Huh?” “‘What are you thinking?’ was the first question I asked you.” “True” he replied. We were both walking along a busy road of a country we were both visiting. We were holding hands. We both had our sights locked ahead unless we had our sights locked onto one another’s. We reached a clearing within that hectic street, and he said: “you had already seen me, making a line to get the tickets. Your first sight of me was not when you decided to speak to me, it was way before” I smiled. “I had seen you even sooner.” He finalized his thought. We kept on walking, I kept on smiling, and he did as well.

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Preguntándole

La conversación en chat había girado sobre la curva que yo había trazado; necesitaba respuestas, y de la manera más sutil posible iba a adquirirlas. “Ala pero de verdad, de verdad que serían perfectos el uno para el otro; lo siento en mi ser.” Ella escribió, en un solo mensaje, desde el otro lado de la pantalla. Yo respondí a su comentario escribiendo, frase por frase, lo siguiente: “Imagínate yo que lo puedo ver,” “¿Nunca te ha pasado que ves como en los ojos de alguien más existe algo genial?,” “creo que te pasa con tu novia,” “como ver profundidad y ganas de explorar todo eso que existe allí oculto” “no le llamaría alma, no sé si creer en almas” “pero definitivamente es profundidad” De haberme escuchado, mi amiga hubiese sentido sabor a duda existencial durante toda mi verborrea. Yo seguía escribiendo y de seguro en su lado de la pantalla seguían parpadeando los puntos indicadores de escritura. No sé si la estaba agotando con mi soliloquio. Para ese entonces  ya no buscaba respuestas, solo quería que alguien me leyera. “y lo puedo ver en sus ojos,” “lo he visto, con esta, 3 veces en mi vida... “y aunque siempre me lo han negado,” “es lindo saber que existe.” Finalicé Ella esperó un tiempo prudencial para continuar con la conversación. “si, me pasa con ella. Es como hacer click” A lo que rápidamente respondí “No es tan simple como un click; Va más allá,” continué, “y eso es lo que aterra a la gente.”

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On how I stopped believing.

-Mom, hurry up! –I yelled with as much gravity as a kid of five could muster. Mom was fixing up her hair, Dad was already getting the engine of the car warm. Christmas was a holiday we would spend at Grandma’s. The excitement was palpable among all of us. My mom would help around the kitchen, eggnog in hand, my dad would drink whisky and laugh, and I would set firecrackers off all night until it was time to get back and open up Santa’s present. -Where’s your sweater? Mom asked. I immediately ran to my room, picked one up, and raced mom towards the car. She didn’t run, nor would she ever.   I rode the back seat behind the driver’s seat. My door was closed already; I was just waiting for everyone else to get in, for my dad to start driving, for the radio to start caroling. I was anxiously waiting.

My dad was first into the car, he got the engine roaring. My mom went in second, she immediately kept on fixing up her make up. My dad was about to get going when my mom said: -Aren’t you forgetting something? -Right! My coat. - My dad replied. But I was using his coat to keep myself warmer. I was about to speak, but he was already gone.

A couple of seconds later, I heard a crackling noise. “Figurines” I thought, someone had broken the figurines underneath the Christmas tree. I knew because I had broken one earlier that Christmas. So, the noise attracted my attention towards the living room window.

I couldn’t decipher at first what was happening there, at the living room; Christmas lights were distracting, and then it became clear to me. The first couple of weeks I had written a letter to Santa asking for a blue bike I could ride then when I had become taller, and that was exactly what I saw. My dad setting the bike up next to the Christmas tree, breaking, as he did, every figurine. Height, weight, beardlessness, they were all proof of Santa’s nonexistence. My dad was setting up the scene for me to keep on believing, but there was nothing to believe in anymore.

It was a quiet ride to Grandma’s.

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An Expensive Dinner.

- May I sit. I take the linen cloth resting over my lap and press it on the corners of my lips as an attempt of cleaning what I haven’t gotten dirty. He makes a signal towards the empty chair right to my left. I nod and emulate his gesture from a different perspective. - It is great seeing you. - I raise my left brow and scratch my forehead with my right hand. - Likewise. – I reply. The waiter pours water into his glass. Offers him the menu, but I send him off. Enough cologne. Traces of a visit to the barber shop, he would never wear cologne in his right mind; I think he doesn’t even own cologne. Heavy breathing and a constant tapping of his fingers on his right leg. I’m baffled.   - Look at me! – He quietly but firmly begs. I do. I look at him after embracing all of the possibilities such glance might wrap. I’m barely breathing. I do not smile, but a glitch around the muscles constructing my cheek might transmit a different idea.   - It’s so you… -What is? - I interrupt. - …never making it easy. - Well... – This time I raise both of my brows. A sign of the irony he has spoken. -I know. - His glance is now directed towards the floor. A sigh followed the diversion of his stare. - Why don’t we go out?- - We’re out. - I cut him off - look… - - No. You look! I’m having dinner by myself for a reason. I had plenty of these kind of dinners picturing you at the other end of the table. I had to make up my mind. I had to realize it was going to be like this after having dealt with your constant negative. Now, when I’m finally content, you track me down and impose.. - I asked if I could sit - - Track me down and invite yourself to my table. My table. - I try to keep my voice down, but my facial expressions are loud. The waiter approaches my side of the table and asks if everything is going “alright”. - The Gentleman is about to leave. – The waiter nods.   His chair makes a terrible dragging noise. He lingers for a moment. I refuse to acknowledge his presence any longer. I am left alone.

My risotto has gone cold. My appetite vanished. I ask for the bill.

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As I was stroking your legs as we sat on the bed of that motel I had it clear,  I will be by your side as long as you’ll allow me

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Just like a dog that digs a number of holes to bury it’s most precious treasures, I’ve dug my fair share around life seeking for a place where to bury my heart. One dream in mind: for my heart to grow roots, a trunk and flowers But I still wonder around, heart in hand, digging. Even after believing I’d found such place,  I still wonder around, heart in hand, digging. 

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We could have built something great together.

it won’t matter how many times you say his name.  Letters that construct his, construct mine as well.  You’ll have no choice but to remember me  and the size of what we could have built together

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On love and Other Chemical Reactions.

I thought everyone would have a chance at this. He said as he lit a cigarette. What do you mean? –I replied don’t mind me, I’m overthinking. We would lose him for days at once as soon as he started overthinking things. Then we would find him in the bluest of moods. Then something would spark a fire within him, but that was it, a spark; never a raging fire. That is who he was, a spark, never a raging fire.

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Juan y Rosa

Ella se llama Rosa. Él se llamaba Juan. Juan, aun cuando se encontraba sumergido dentro de tanta pobreza, pensaba que Rosa era la más hermosa. Rosa, aun cuando sus limitantes no le permitían bañarse, se perfumaba con cualquier cosa que aportara buen aroma para agradar a Juan. Juan y Rosa estaban enamorados. Ellos habían hecho de las calles su hogar; los portones, sus habitaciones; los arbustos bajos y los postes, sus inodoros; las aceras que rodean el mercado “El guarda”, su sala de estar; las ventas que se amontonan una sobra otra a lo largo de las calles, su jardín.

Juan y Rosa no tenían nada más que la presencia del otro y alcohol, mucho alcohol. Los ojos de Juan alimentaban con esperanza el alma de Rosa. Los senos de Rosa le quitaban el hambre a Juan. Juntos callaban sus panzas con los restos de verduras y frutas que encontraban en su jardín. Juntos calmaban su curiosidad con los objetos que encontraban en su sala. Juntos dormían cada noche que pasaba en cualquiera de las habitaciones que les rodeaban. Era enero. Hacía frío. Ambos vestían abrigos de marca de paca para poder dormir.

Juan y Rosa dormían en una de sus habitaciones blancas. A Rosa la despertó la noche y la necesidad de usar uno de sus inodoros la separó de Juan. Rosa se quedó dormida con ayuda del alcohol en una de sus habitaciones negras, lejos de Juan.

Ese día que amanecía la casa de Rosa se despertó con movimientos en el jardín y en su sala, con otros habitantes usando sus inodoros y visitando sus habitaciones; tanto fue el movimiento que Rosa se despertó con mal genio y sin acompañante. Rosa se levantó, se sacudió, se estiró y caminó a la habitación en donde comenzó la noche anterior. Al llegar, se acurrucó a la par de Juan y volvió a quedarse dormida.  

La madrugada se convirtió en media mañana. El sol le pegaba a Rosa en su cara y tanta violencia la despertó. Rosa abrazó a Juan y le dio un beso en su mejilla. Su mejilla estaba fría. Rosa comenzó a llorar. Entonces era Rosa quien le pegaba a Juan en la cara. Juan no se despertaba, ni se iba a despertar. Entre llantos y bofetadas Rosa gritaba el nombre de Juan; le demandaba a la vida por la razón de haberle arrebatado a su único amor. Y al tranquilizarse comenzó a cantar…

“La noche se llevó a mi Juan, a mi novio amado. La noche se llevó a mi Juan, por no estar a su lado.”

Ella se llama Rosa y a su lado ahora camina Mario.

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Tiene Miedo

¿Miedo? ¿Miedo? ¿Es en serio? Yo sé que ando por allí tratando de no pisar grietas. Sé que espero llegar a la esquina para cruzar la calle. Sé que aun cuando el semáforo me señala que puedo pasar veo para ambos lados. Sé que no acepto friend requests de extraños. Sé que uso audífonos en lugares públicos para que no se me acerquen otros a pedir direcciones. Pero no lo hago por miedo, lo hago porque viví y me caí. Porque un día vino un extraño y me tomó por sorpresa; me enamoró y en un centro comercial me mandó a la mierda; porque una cerota se me acerco en ese instante para preguntar dónde estaba el banco y me tuve que tragar las lágrimas; porque me cruce la calle sin mirar y el man, por frenar y no tirarme a la verga, fue chocado por detras y del impacto se quebró la nariz. Te digo, no es miedo; es experiencia.  

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Prudente

Desenterrará su corazón de donde lo tiene guardado Lo empacará como regalo Lo dejará tirado por alli sin etiqueta, sin razón desde una distancia prudente observará si álguien se atreve a tomarlo si álguien se atreve a destaparlo si álguien se decide a llevarlo y le seguirá desde una distancia prudente seguirá sus pasos por días quizás por meses le seguiría por años un día, sin razón aparente se presentará como el propietario sin pretención de recuperar el corazón que un día empacó como regalo esperará que el nuevo propietario le permita, a su vida, pasar

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Tiny Story and Illustration by Edgar Meza