Con la vida por querella

My messy hair looks sexier. Mess in my room makes it more mine. Mess in my bed makes it more yours. I love how my chaotic, messy life puzzles up. I admire my wild, messy heart. My tangled, messy head it's never boring. My messy laugh is contagious. Sometimes I wish I could find things easily or get in time once. But I live and leave things as they are, where they end their purpose, without spending extra time figuring them out. They are mine while they are meant to be mine. If I don't need something anymore, I just leave it. If I can't help that feeling anymore, I just leave it. I don't (can't) schedule. Neither plan. Life flows, and we the messies float on it. The tidies, they waste their time constructing walls, building up dikes and digging channels. Hey, the universe tends to mess. Just don't mess with it.                          

Qué ñoña me has vuelto esta noche. Vuelves a saber a vacío. Cuanto más me decepcionas, más te alejas. Y cuanto más te alejas, más me da por volver a pensarte. Tu diagnóstico es que estoy fatal de la cabeza, el mío que estás fatal del corazón.  Se nos escurre el tiempo, mira cómo te resbala por la espalda. No sabes la rabia que me da que lo pierdas. No sabes la rabia que me da que te tomen el pelo. No sabes la rabia que me da no ser yo la que te tome el pelo. Supongo que esto es culpa mía, tuya, suya, nuestra, vuestra y suya. Y que los motivos son tuyos, míos, suyos, vuestros, nuestros, y suyos. El silencio no. El silencio es sólo nuestro.