Cracks on My Foundations

I’ve been cursed since birth with a nearly perfect memory for certain things and an imagination that doesn’t fit inside my skull. But I’ve always been okay with that.

Forgetting is a funny thing. At least for me, that is. I don’t know how to forget but I’ve somehow learned to love that. 

I live in a semi-constant state of reverie and I’m hopelessly drawn to remembering us. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I miss you or anything. I just like remembering things that made me happy once. It feels like a movie, in the least cheesy way one can say that. It’s not because our time together was oh-so dreamy, it was lovely indeed, but not cinema italiano-esque. It just was, was being the key word here. Every time I look back, I get the feeling that all those memories aren’t mine, that they aren’t ours. I feel like they were put there, absentmindedly, by someone, anyone, but me. Those memories aren’t ours anymore, I suppose. They belong to another time now. And the people in them aren’t us anymore. They’re actors that look and breathe like us, but they’re not us. We feel like them and they feel like us, but we’re not them and they’re not us. We sound like them, but we’re not them anymore. Our voices are distant because they’re not our voices anymore. Those voices belong to them now, and I can do is listen as they play between my ears and don’t ring any bells. You’re not you anymore, you’re him and he doesn’t sound like you anymore, because I’ve ceased to know how you sound. He looks like you but I don’t know what you look like anymore, I just know he looks like the you you might’ve been once. He feels like you but I don’t know how you feel anymore. He tastes like you but my taste buds don’t remember what you taste like anymore. He smells like you but I don’t remember what you smell like anymore. He is you but you’re not him; he’s mine to keep but you’ve been gone for a while. He isn’t you anymore and you’ll never be him again.

All that’s left behind the scenes is a feeling of numbness, a vague sense that you were here once and that he’s here now but that him, too, will be gone soon. He was the fire and you are the ashes, so airborne and light. The ashes are gone now, there’s an ember left, but it’s slowly fading into the part of the film the reeling never catches. The sound has been muted and now, the voice you once had belongs to him, but he nows it’s not his voice, so he swallowed it and doesn’t know how to use it anymore. And now I don’t know how to hear it anymore. He knows his face was yours once, but he also knows your face won’t be his for long. He knows his hands were yours, so he stuffs them inside his pockets and never takes them out. He knows he smells and tastes and feels like you, but his senses are numb and he’s been making a point to numb mine, too. 

My ears don’t remember you anymore, they only have him now. And he sounds like waves should sound: distant, uneven.

My tongue doesn’t remember you anymore, it only has him now. And he tastes bitter.

My skin doesn’t remember you anymore, it only has him now. And he feels like glass.

My eyes don’t remember you anymore, they only have him now. And he’s blurry.

I don’t remember you anymore, I only have him now. And he’s been writing his suicide note.

Why I shouldn’t miss you:

1. You left without caring to say why.
2. I found out why. You got “tired” of me.
3. You’re an insecure little bitch.
4. You an arrogant asshole.
5. Your personality can be measured in teaspoons.

Why I miss you:

1. You’re hilariously funny. Yes, even your retarded jokes were funny.
2. Your voice is beautiful.
3. I liked the way you held my hand, and kissed me, and tickled me.
4. I liked resting my head on your shoulder, on your chest.
5. I felt immensely confortable with you.

There’s really no point in trying to say the bad outweighed the good, because it didn’t and it doesn’t. It really doesn’t have to. It’s not like I don’t care about you anymore, I do, but there’s no point in pretending that’ll change anything. It’s not like you’ll come back. It’s not like I don’t want you to come back, but you don’t need to come back anymore. Yes, I moved on but I haven’t forgotten you. I don’t know how to do that. I’ll probably suffer from a nervous breakdown whenever I randomly see you again. But that’s fine with me, at least I embrace the fact that I have feelings and don’t run away from them. Which is, by the way, what I think you did. But I don’t dwell on things like that anymore. I’m done theorizing the real reasons behing your departure.

I deleted you off my phone, my Facebook, my Twitter. I hope you’re happy now. You were tired of me so, now you won’t have to hear from me anymore. It helps me cope, too. Without having you there, constantly, I feel less tempted to check on you. Not that checking on you helped me understand anything, but it kept me entertained. My imagination making me laugh as it painted you drinking and smoking your life away. I didn’t really feel better after imagining that, it was just childish. Anyway, now that I don’t have to constantly click on your profile to read another sappy status/tweet that doesn’t make any fucking sense, my short attention span will help me slowly forget I felt things about you. No, I won’t forget you. Not because you were all so great but because I don’t think forgetting people helps with anything. I’m happy we happened and I’m happy it’s over before it became a lie. I won’t go all melodramatic and ramble about how I’m the best fucking thing you’ll ever have. I know I’m pretty fucking great, but that’s subjective. You can find someone you think is better than me and I can live with that because I know I’ll find someone better than you. 

I hope your space and time worked wonders on you. I hope you’re happy. I know I am. Just for the record, I don’t miss you anymore. I miss us.

I don’t think it’s healthy for me to dwell on this anymore. This is the last thing I post about you. There’s really not much else I can say anyway. What am I going to write about? How happy you made me and how stupid you were for letting me go? What am I going to do that for? I already ate all the chocolate you gave me for Valentine’s, your card has stopped smelling of you and I threw your CD and the teddy bear on the back of my closet. Those were all the reminders I needed so why the fuck am I going to create more? I mean, I can still feel your tongue on mine, I remember your hands perfectly, I could draw the outlines of your face from memory. I sometimes close my eyes and my head’s on your chest, my ear happily listening to your heartbeat quicken. That’s fine with me, I like remembering things like that, because at least it worked for a while and I was extremely happy. Those memories seem more distant as time goes by, like it wasn’t us inside them, just people that looked and thought like us and we felt things through them. Maybe someday I won’t feel anything anymore. I don’t care how long that that takes to come. I’m turning the page because there’s nothing else written for us anymore that I can possibly read. That’s okay. That’s fine. I’ll carry on with my life and you’ll carry on with yours and that’s fine, that’s okay.

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Goodbye.

whatifwewerealone asked: My google chrome every time I get on tumblr prompts me to translate the website from spanish because of your posts! Its so nice, now I can stalk you even better (:

Hahahahaha, I’m glad you have fun stalking me. Don’t hit the translate thing tho, it won’t make much sense anymore if you do. Google Translate is stupid. :)

Te juro que hay días que ni me importas. No me importa lo que estás haciendo ni con quien lo haces. No me importa si piensas en mí, es más, hasta asumo que lo haces porque pienso que nunca te vas a poder olvidar de mí. Esos días me rio. Me rio de ti y tu estupidez. Me rio de tu orgullo, de tu inseguridad. Me rio porque te entiendo. Me rio porque se que debes estar peor que yo. Me rio porque es tu culpa. Me rio porque alguien como tú lo encuentro donde sea. Me rio porque no me tienes. Me rio porque me perdiste. 

Te juro tambien que hay días que solo tú me importas. Quiero saber lo que estás haciendo y con quien lo estás haciendo. Pienso que no piensas ya en mí, asumo que ya me olvidaste, porque quizás yo soy fácil de olvidar. Esos días lloro. Lloro porque eres estúpido. Lloro porque eres orgulloso e inseguro. Lloro porque no te entiendo, porque no entiendo lo que nos pasó. Lloro porque creo que estoy peor que tú. Lloro porque quisiera que fuera mi culpa. Lloro porque alguien como tu es lo que me hace falta. Lloro porque no te tengo. Lloro porque te perdí. 

Hay días que pienso que ni siquiera te quiero. Que nunca te quise, que solo fuiste un capricho. Hay días que pienso que nunca había querido a alguien tanto. Que fuiste el primero que no fue un sueño y solo eso. 

Hay días que duermo y no sueño contigo. Como si me subconsciente ya ni recordara tu cara. Hay días que duermo y sueño contigo. Como si mi imaginación creyera que puede convocar a los dioses para que mi destino cambie y vuelvas a estar en él.

Hay días que quisiera verte y decirte todos los insultos que me guarde el día aquel. Hay días que quisiera verte y decirte todo el dolor que sentí.

Hay días que siento rabia. Hay días que siento tristeza. Hay días que estoy feliz. Hay días que estoy nostálgica.

Pero queriéndote matar o queriéndote besar, siempre estás ahí, en mi mente. Estás ahí porque yo no se olvidar. Estás ahí porque te volviste parte de mí. Estás ahí porque todavia te siento. Estás ahí porque el tiempo no cura nada. Estás ahí porque el tiempo lo cura todo. Estás ahí porque te extraño. Estás ahí porque me quedan cosas por decirte. Estás ahí porque todo hace que te recuerde. Estás ahí porque te quiero. Estás ahí porque no quiero que solo estés ahí. 

No sé que pretenderé hacer conmigo. Si seguiré deshojando margaritas o si talaré el bosque. No sé que pretenderé hacer contigo. Si seguiré esperando tu regreso o si me iré de misma, para ya no estar contigo ni en sueños.

Dejenme ver si entiendo: la metáfora trillada de que “un clavo saca a otro clavo” tiene sentido porque el hecho que uno consiga a una persona para remplazar la anterior hace que la vieja deje ocupar un lugar en nosotros. Corrijanme si me equivoco, pero si tomamos la frase literalmente, solamente llevándonos de física básica nos damos cuenta que esto no tiene sentido. Toda materia ocupa un espacio y este espacio es exclusivo para esa materia. Sí, un sentimiento es materia porque todo lo que sentimos es una reacción química, pero eso es un cuento pa’ otro día. Volviendo a los clavos y demás objetos punzantes, si un clavo nuevo viene a tratar de ocupar el mismo espacio que el anterior, el clavo viejo se hundiría más. Así de simple. Podemos ponernos orgullosos como Beyonce y decirle al clavo que no es irremplazable y que cualquier otro clavo puede ocupar su lugar. Porfavor, dejemos de ser tan ilusos. Nadie es reemplazable. Olvidable, despreciable y molestoso? Sí, claro está que hay gente así. Pero por más que uno trate, la gente no se reemplaza, ni  siquiera cuando viene alguien mejor. Si en algún momento estuviste con alguien es porque te gustaba (claro, esto soy yo privando en romántica y queriendo pensar que la gente solo está con la otra porque siente amor/atracción hacia ella, pero ni modo. Sean idealistas conmigo.) Por ende, solo el hecho que disfrutaras momentos con dicha persona (o clavo, no sé) hará que la recuerdes, quieras o no (las endorfinas promueven la buena memoria, googlealo si crees que te miento). Como estos momentos van a estar en tu memoria por más tiempo que los momentos malos (está casi cientificamente probado, así que no me vengas con el cuento de que tu solo puedes recordar lo malo, eso eres tu de idiota, no es culpa del proceso hormonal normal de tu cerebro), el simple hecho de que encuentres a otra persona y hagas lo mismo con dicha persona no significa que se te va a olvidar lo que sentiste con el clavo anterior. Dale, lee eso otra vez. Le llegaste? Espero que sí porque no me gusta repetir. Entonces, como decía, un clavo no saca a otro clavo simplemente por el hecho de que el recuerdo de la persona (o clavo, para que no te confundas más) anterior no se va a ir porque lo metas más pa’ dentro con otro clavo. Sí, yo se, no suena justo pero yo no estoy escribiendo esto para ser el rayo de sol que iluminó tu día, perdón. El punto de “superar” a los clavos, tornillos y demás no es forzarle otro utensilio metafórico de construcción. El punto de la superación es encontrar un sitio para dicho utensilio que no esté siendo ocupado por otro clavo. Trata clavar un clavo arriba de otro a ver si el de abajo se va a poner a llorar y se va a ir. Dale, hazlo, para que así tengas otra razón menos para pensar que la gente se pueda reemplazar y no necesites leer esto de nuevo. 

Ahora, tu quieres sacar un clavo? O te consigues un buen carpintero o le sobas la barriga al Buddha para que te de Alzheimer’s.

Bye.

…que me duela que no estés solo esta en mi mente.

I miss you.

Stop being stupid.

You’re not making anything better.

I wish I knew why you decided to solve things like this.

Please, come back.

I miss you

You said you need “time.”

Time for what?

How could one day just fuck it all up?

I don’t even know what that means. Time. 

So, what am I supposed to do? Just wait until you run out of things to do with your “time” and your “space”? 

Fuck this.

Just when things were going great.. it had to die. Why? Why does everything I have end in a stupid suspension? 

There, my heart is now broken. You were the realest thing I ever had. 

Fuck.

You make me too happy for words. Make this last forever <3

(Source: calabashxo)