Breathe my chest

-Woah, she´s really cute, Franz.

-Yeah, I know. Just like her mother.

Jack bent his knees and looked at her right through her eyes, at her same height.

-Haven´t we´ve got right here the cutest girl in the planet? What´s her name? If I may know...

-Samantha, sir - She said while she mildly giggled.

-Don´t call me sir, Samantha. I´m an old friend of your dad´s. We even assisted the same kindergarten. You might not believe it, but once we were also kids. - Said Jack with half a smile in his face. Franz, at the back of the room, laughed half embarrassed half dreamy. - Well, aren´t you really beautiful, Samantha?

-What´s beautiful, sir... Jack! - She quickly corrected before Jack could tell her again not to call him sir.

-Well... do you mean it like "what sort of things are beautiful" or "what does beautiful mean"?

-I don´t know... Both I guess.

Franz approached slowly from behind holding a glass of blended scotch in his hand. He gave Jack a pat in the back with a smile in his face and made a sign to tell him that he was going upstairs, but that there was no hurry. So Franz stand up and went out.

-Beautiful are the those kind of things that are worth contemplating. That stuff that makes you smile only by watching it. I don´t know, like a little bird jumping over the branches of a flowering tree.

-Oh, just like a twilight at the beach?

-Yes, exactly. Like a bunch of roses in a garden.

-And what else? - She asked smiling with a certain nervousness in her words.

-The smile of people. Even people themselves. Books are also beautiful. Paintings, sculptures, poems. Art! Flowers, nature, love, the sea, mountains...

-What is love?

-What?

-Yes, you just said love. What does that mean? What´s love?

-Love is... it is something really weird. It´s like falling asleep. You don´t remember when you fell asleep last night, but you just did. When was the moment when you stopped all your senses and you started dreaming? Nobody knows. But the matter of fact is that you just did, and you have been dreaming all night long. What´s falling asleep, Samantha?

-I don´t know... Forgetting what your surrounded by and flying away to Neverland, I guess...

-Well that’s something pretty much the same as love. I... I think it´s like sleeping. I mean, you sleep for 8 hours through the night, and when you open your eyes for waking up it´s just like if half a second had pased since you lied down on your bed and flew away from this world. Why love? Who knows. Why sleep? Know neither. The fact is you some days just arrive home, with world on your back and you just need to sleep. Forever. You need lying on a couch or on your bed or in a chair, wherever. You just need sleep. And what happens while you sleep?

-I.. don´t know, Jack.

-I didn´t intended you to answer me. But that´s the thing. No one knows what happens in your head or in the shiver of your body while you sleep. You just... fall asleep, not wondering why, not wondering how. Not even asking yourself: and what after? Just like... contemplating a twilight.

-Oh, so love is something beautiful.

-Yes, it might be. Even though sometimes, while you´re watching the sun going down and down and down until it drowns in the sea, your eyes start to burn. Then nights are waiting for your flaming eyes. The darkness of the night becomes insufferable. The shadow of the night kills your soul.

Samantha stared at Jack concerned. Jack was looking to the ground between his knees. He suddenly looked up and find Samantha´s face a bit twisted due to the recent discovery she had made. Jack stand up.

-So... ´Want to go outside to stare at the stars?

Mas no importa

Suelo nadar contracorriente entre la hierba y dejarme peinar las manos por el fuego. Las mañanas se vuelven de un tono oscuro y cuando sale el sol brillan las montañas como pilas de azúcar. De mis botas desanudadas crece un racimo de uvas tintas y bajo ellas gotea un riachuelo de letras y de trazos que acarician mis pies desnudos que cuelgan del somier. Las nubes escampan y el cielo brilla convirtiéndose en cristal llovido. Apago la luz cuando amanezco y suena el despertador cuando me acuesto. A menudo suelo escribir tras los felpudos citas de sabios hombres que no temieron a la historia y vienen a besarme entonces los guepardos. Bebo de las piedras y camino sobre el agua. Los guantes me enfrían las manos, o quizás son mis manos que congelan el espacio que me rodea. De pronto veo princesas en Beirut, Tai-pei, Milán, La Habana y en Dublín. El viento sopla fuerte contra mi pecho y mi popa arranca como abordado por gusanos. Las galeras permanecen calientes. Las frutas, todas, se vuelven negras, mas no pierden su sabor. Sigo teniendo sed. Y el otoño destiñe su marrón en sombras de verdes y en luces de añil. Las espadas besan y los muros se abren. Entre los ladrillos escurre el murmullo de la arena traída por el viento del desierto. Las sábanas blancas cubren las laderas de los prados al amanecer y el rocío y la sonrisa abrazan mi piel desnuda a la noche. Los peces vuelan por el cielo y las aves nadan bajo tierra. Y cuando llueve y las hojas del calendario caen sobre el paisaje gris, salgo y corro sobre adoquines en chancletas en busca de un koala, entre los cristales llorados por las estrellas y el colorido vergel de la tormenta.Y es que en el fondo merece la pena
estar loco.