The HistographerA strong woman doesn’t shy away from love. She feels the magnetic pull towards you and scared as she may be at first, she doesn’t pull away. She meets eyes with you and suddenly finds herself drowning in the depths of your unfathomable eyes. Thrown off-guard, she holds her gaze confidently as through to…
Dicen que ya nadie se enamora. Que el último romántico ha muerto y que las flores ya no saben de floreros. Dicen que los besos a ojos cerrados pasaron de moda, que las cartas a puño son muy lentas, que agarrarse de la mano es cosa de viejos. Dicen que abrirle la puerta a una dama, para qué, si hay igualdad de derechos. Dicen que hay que pretender que uno no siente; que si te llaman bien, y si no, también, y si te he amado no lo recuerdo; ¿cómo te llamabas, que no me acuerdo? Dicen que para todo hay que hacer una cita, consultar el calendario, la fecha, el horario, dos cafés sin azúcar y pagamos a medias. Dicen que no hay diferencia entre el amor y el sexo, y que eso de querer con el alma es puro cuento. Dicen que no aman porque les da miedo el amor, y aunque tengan razón, nunca voy a estar de acuerdo. Porque digan lo que digan, aquí estoy yo, escribiéndole al amor. Queriendo, besando, sufriendo, muriendo y resucitando; solo para amar de nuevo. – Brando
They say that no one falls in love anymore. That the last romantic has died and that flowers don’t know about vases.
They say that kissing with your eyes closed went out of fashion, that handwritten letters are too tedious and that holding hands is for old people.
They say, about opening the door for a Lady, what for if we have equal rights. They say you must pretend not to feel anything; that if they call great and if they don’t that’s fine too. If I have loved you I don’t remember. What was your name? I don’t recall.
They say you must make an appointment for everything, check the calendar, date and time – two coffees, no sugar and we split the bill in half.
They say there’s no difference between love and sex and that loving with your soul is just a story. They say they don’t love because they are afraid of love yet even if they are right I will never agree with them. Because regardless of what they say, here I am, writing for love; loving, kissing, suffering, dying and reviving just to love again.
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Today my little sister celebrates her 30th birthday. Like, woah. Thirty birthdays. Somehow that does not seem possible. It feels like it was just yesterday, when we first heard that we were going to get a little sister. Finally, a new addition to the household! Mom brought you home and I stared down at your little face, wondering who you would turn out to be. I marveled at your chubby cheeks and your dark curious eyes, unblinking, as if perpetually surprised by this world you were born into. I remember all the times I would spend rocking you in my arms singing Wizard of Oz songs to soothe you. I remember you twirling and dancing in a a frilly dress, immersed in your own little world and being quietly bemused when I realized that you were singing songs you had made up yourself. I remember the time you offered one of our family friends a quarter for her to stop talking. I remember it all like it was yesterday. Of course, at the same time, that feels like ages ago.
Throughout the years I’ve watched you grow up to be a responsible woman, a bride, a wonderful friend and soon a loving mother. I saw a little girl with so many dreams with little resources become a woman that stands today, successful, strong and beautiful. You sowed so many good seeds and your harvest has been great. I appreciate how hard you worked. I am so proud of the beautiful, smart and hardworking young woman you’ve grown into. I admire you. You mean the world to me.