The illusion

She knew it; she was beautiful and she was there to be eaten and slowly. Men stopped to look at her without blushing, driven by the ancestral instinct of possessing the beautiful and perpetuating the species. The women tried to understand where so much beauty came from, wanting to buy some hours of their perfection. From the day I saw her, I sneaked up on her, with the hidden desire to possess her, to have every inch of her body in my hands, to feel the spell of her beauty and the warm touch of her lips bathed in lipstick.

I chased her shadow through the corners she passed by, trying to pick up the invisible trail of her perfume, and hold it like a treasure in my brain and recover it again in the darkness of the night, like a miser, to throw myself into the abyss of solitary pleasure.

One time he stopped to look at me and smiled at me. I didn't know how to react. I was petrified, watching him go down the street, as I picked up the ruins of his smile with my hands and tried to control the heat of my passion by palpitating in my crotch.

A few days later, I found her after leaving a couture shop. I approached her, she recognized me and smiled at me. I jumped off the cliff and said:

"I'd love to take you out to dinner."

She looked at me in a way I will never forget and I felt like a helpless dog crossing the highway in the middle of the night, on a cold, rainy day. Alone and without her.

There I began to understand the immense desert between me and her. I tried to forget her, but I couldn't. Even today, I sneak up on her, hiding in the shadows like a wretch to drink a little of her beauty and quench the thirst for my lust.

Image source: Pixabay 

The lie

That everything would change, they said, and that everything would be different. After a while he understood why they had lied.

Source of the images: Pixabay and @talentclub

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Temporal obsession

He was so obsessed with time that he had digital clocks in every corner of his house. Her life was controlled by a digital hand. One day he got up and found that they had been stolen. He sat on the couch and let himself die because, without a watch, his life was meaningless. He spent the days watching the sun rise and fall and how life went by outside his home. On the third day he got up, with an urgent desire to eat. Then he realized that time was just a perspective on the prism of his life.

Image source: Pixabay  and @talentclub

Lectura y mar

You want the winter to come

I know you want winter to come. That you don't like summer, the sun, the beach, or its cumbersome sand. I also know that you don't like the darkness, nor the stale smell of humidity, that gets in your way even the most hidden of your fibers. That you wait until they open the doors and free you from the dirty wood of this old wardrobe and walk in the city parks again; but don't forget that this is the fate of the cloth coats.

Source of the images: Pixabay and @talentclub

Medio minuto para morir

Quieres que llegue el invierno

Ya sé que quieres que llegue el invierno. Que no te gusta el verano, ni el Sol, ni la playa, ni su engorrosa arena. También sé que no te gusta la oscuridad, ni el olor rancio de la humedad, que se te mete hasta la más oculta de tus fibras. Que esperas a que abran las puertas y que te liberen de la madera sucia de este viejo ropero y volver a pasear por los parques de la ciudad; pero no olvides que este es el sino de los abrigos de paño. 

Entiendo tu añoranza por el frío, por esos días en que el viento gélido acaricia tu lana y los copos de nieve se posan suavemente sobre tus pliegues. Aguardas paciente, mientras el calor se desvanece lentamente, imaginando esos momentos en los que vuelves a ser útil y necesario. La vida en la penumbra del armario no es fácil, lo sé. La espera se hace eterna y las sombras que te rodean se vuelven compañeras indeseadas. La madera cruje con cada cambio de estación, y el moho amenaza con dejar su impronta.

Pero no desesperes, querido abrigo. El verano no es eterno y tu momento llegará. Las puertas se abrirán, la luz volverá a acariciar tus botones y la brisa invernal te envolverá una vez más. Entonces, volverás a sentirte vivo, recorriendo las avenidas, protegiendo del frío a quien te lleva. Ese será tu instante de gloria, cuando el invierno te devuelva a la vida y los días soleados sean solo un recuerdo lejano.

Hasta entonces, resiste. La oscuridad no dura para siempre y la madera vieja no puede contener tu esencia. Llegará el día en que los parques te vean pasar, que las hojas secas crujan bajo tus pasos, y que el viento frío sea tu compañero. No olvides que, aunque el ropero sea tu prisión temporal, el invierno siempre vuelve, y con él, tu propósito.

Fuente de las imágenes: Pixabay