"(...) todos me dicen el negro, llorona, negro pero carinoso, yo soy como el chile verde, picante pero sabroso (...)"

Here I am again. Maybe there isn't anything worthy to be written about, but I need to try, right?
I have had the time to step away from those who I held has the most endearing. I have had the time to step away from nearly everyone. And it has been good. It has been really good.
Things seem to walk into the right rythm. Things seem to be getting right. And it requires the continuity of my secret, the continuity of my silence and state-of-nearly-chronic-absence. Things require more time to myself. More time to the true healing of my soul. More time to see the passerbies. More time to see the shadows.
In the end, I'm going to be a ghost.

The ghost walks the streets of the city.
He sees their smiles and their serius faces.
He sees the masks.
He sees the cigarettes (and inhales the smell of joints in the air).

I like to step the streets of the city. I missed that place a lot.

I missed what those changex have been bringing to my life.
Freedom.
Independence, again - total, not a partial taste of it.
I missed the beauty of being a mad grown up. I missed what more can be brought by the happier times. And it'll come. Or maybe not.This time, I won't weep regreting what I could've done.

Look at the passing shadow. Fell the cold breath on your neck, the cold lips getting warm in your lips. Feel the glory. Feel.

Just feel.

We have no idea

Fado sung in Japanese. Amália Rodrigues has sung in Japan and left her mark there, as we can hear in this video.
We never know what we'll wake in the others. We have never idea of how long will still be reminded by those who are living. We're nothing, but traces of dreams and hopes. We're nothing and we'll take nothing with us to the grave, but the years we've lived, but the smiles we've given away, the food we ate...
Let me "turn off". And dream.

Time for madness

It's no one business what were the most read texts.
It's no one business which were the dates that a certain thing has been written.
No one needs access to old things.

I haven't had the guts to keep on editing this blog on a tablet that keeps freaking out. I haven't had the time, the patience, the will to do so. I can try to keep it more private. I can only try and assume or delete it all in a row, that's exactly what I don't want to do. So I can only close the gates and pray for the very best. Until then, I will be around as often as I feel like writing here, hoping and praying that those older entries won't bother me.

Take a look around, if you're wanting to browse through the "Older Entries" button for hours. Maybe days. If not, enjoy what you can get.

Burden

This is some kind of burden. I want to write and not too long ago, some words were dancing within my mind. Here I am, smoking one cigarette (another one) and with my mind going blank, without anything to write about. This is what I have been through in the last months. Except for diary entries or even one letter or another, nothing comes out of my soul through the written form.

Who can imagine what goes within my soul? I laugh, I smile, I make jokes. Rare are the people who have a little idea of whatever goes within me. Rare are the people who can see through the surface, who can notice the cold feeling of emptiness. When I stop speaking, when I stare something and my soul runs from the prison of flesh and wanders through other places, no one notices.

Who can imagine what one feels?

The night is coming to an end, as my words, so I need to leave. I need to stop for now.

Il Divo - Hallelujah