The Locked Room

Things I have learnt

anlena — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 10:33:15 +0000

You are probably about to read a whole bunch of stuff that a lot of people have said before me, but these are some things I felt like sharing:

Hollywood movies are all lies.

Love can not survive everything. You have to fight hard for it and sometimes that won’t be enough.

It’s not the universe who decides, it’s people. More often than not you won’t like those decisions but, for some reason, we make excuses for them and blame it on a higher power.

I’ts stupid to not let people in because you are afraid. But letting people in without making they prove they deserve it is equally stupid.

Sometimes you just need coffee. Sometimes you need a drink.

Things don’t happen when they are meant to, or when you are ready or when you least expect them. Things just happen. Or sometimes they don’t.

You can not expect others to make you feel good about yourself.

People will leave for no apparent reason. It will hurt. The pain might not go away. You’ll live.

A decision made when you are angry is a decision you will regret. However decisions can not be put off forever.

If you don’t do it, nobody else will.

There is no fairness or logic behind life. And that’s that.

We don’t get what we deserve, we get what we get.

There is no point in dwelling on bad choices but you can learn from them.

You will hurt and get hurt.

And sometimes you will be happy.

Not words

anlena — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 22:56:24 +0000

Not words. Not empty canvases. It is just waiting, because something is coming up. Something must be coming up.

And so she murmurs, at night, every night. She closes her eyes and she is certain that this is not forever. It can not be. And in that way she tries to save herself because otherwise she would have died by now.

But there is always tomorrow and that means there is always hope. Even if that hope is hopeless.

She tears apart the papers since letters are of no use to her anymore.

Days become weeks, then months, then years.

The course of life takes over her own life which seems to make no sense to her so she ignores it.

Rain makes her blue but also brings the memories of what was which also makes her think of what might come. She hates the sun but the blue sky soothes her. Everything is fine when you know your story has not yet begun.

Only the words still escape her and the canvas stays white and hope is nothing but an illusion diverting her from life.

Their world

anlena — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 21:36:01 +0000

Because as long as she is there, he’s going to linger. He’s going to decipher the meaning of leaves flying around in the wind and understand the words she never said. As long as he breathes the same air she breathes he’s going to keep alive the hope of one day breathing it in from her mouth. Again. She walks the same sidewalks and yet nothing can the tiles tell him of what became of her. Do her eyes look the same? Do her hands hold somebody else’s? Wandering street after street he still feels like at any moment she will walk up to him and smile. As long as she can hold in her mind the tiniest memory of the boy that once loved her. If she can, only for a little longer, let her scars wash under the rain there’ll come the day. A time when nothing will change their world.

Mentiras

anlena — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 12:21:49 +0000

Una mezcla de alcohol, añoranza y desesperanza no te convierten en nada que no fueras ya. Cogerme de la mano no te da derecho a susurrarme mentiras al oído. Una despedida no quiere decir que me vaya a ir a dormir llorando una ausencia que no siento. Pero si eso es lo único que quieres, entonces engáñame a lo grande. Hazme creer que eres esa persona que en realidad no eres. Háblame con las palabras propias de un amor que no sientes. A la mañana, con una mezcla de alcohol, añoranza y desesperanza, prometo derramar lágrimas amargas por una ausencia que me habrás hecho sentir real.

Nada

anlena — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 07:04:59 +0000

A lo mejor es mejor así, sin que nunca llegaras a entrar del todo en mi vida. Así no hay nada que esconder. Te deslizaste por los márgenes de mis días sin dejar nunca un rastro que alguna vez pudiera llegar a seguir. Nunca un paso de más. Mis preguntas se estrellaron siempre contra un muro. Solo dejaste, y sin querer, algún recuerdo, a regañadientes, entre frases sin sentido. Y, ¿sabes qué?, ojalá eso tampoco lo hubieras dejado.

Leaving

anlena — Mon, 16 May 2011 19:18:16 +0000

Soon I will be packing my bags again and sooner than that none of it will matter. Though for a while, the days will be filled with memories of laughs, late nights and the easy warmth of milder weather and kinder circumstances.

In very little time my life will be kept in boxes and put on hold until new and sunnier days get ready to arrive. An though it wasn’t always so, there is really no way of changing it back.

I’m counting the days, as usual, because home tends to be more interesting from abroad. Luckily this time it’s only minor disappointments and major steps forward what I will be bringing with me.

Different and out of the ordinary is always better. I know it, my luggage knows it, and we are both ready.

In past tense

anlena — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 21:45:26 +0000

It’s funny that you told me to breath when you were the one taking up all my air. It’s ironic that you proved to be right even when all you wanted was to push me away. But what is plain stupid is that I thought it all to be different.

Coincidencias

anlena — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 23:25:17 +0000

Llegó a la ciudad siete meses después de que él ya se hubiera ido. Los días aún eran largos y el calor pegajoso se le quedaba en la piel hasta bien entrada la noche. Cuando llegó, buscó los lugares por los que aquella vez le había visto caminar, solo para darse cuenta de que todas las calles parecían ser la misma. Así, se creó la desagradable ilusión en su mente de que todas las calles le pertenecían a sus pasos y que a cada uno que ella diera en aquella ciudad le asaltaría su recuerdo. Por eso dejó de buscar los lugares y escarbar en el pasado. Pero entonces su subconsciente le hacía imaginárselo en cada transeúnte con ojos como los suyos o su mismo andar desgarbado hasta que tuvo la sensación de que la ciudad solo la poblaban él y ella. Por suerte, la rutina tiene la costumbre de hacerlo todo gris y, al cabo de un tiempo, las calles volvieron a no ser de nadie y los transeúntes a ser desconocidos. Poco a poco, el otoño dio paso al invierno y empezó a sentir la ciudad algo más cercana, aunque no propia. Todo así, hasta que un día se lo encontró en una calle cualquiera confundiéndolo con un transeúnte. Entonces ya no le cupo duda de que la ciudad sería siempre de él y su traslado allí era, si no el destino, una coincidencia muy estúpida.

A story

anlena — Mon, 07 Mar 2011 21:21:40 +0000

Ours is just another love story. To some it might seem mundane, to others it might seem like it’s been told so many times before. To me it’s just our story. Just like any other love story. There was happiness, smiles and caresses but also tears, regrets and arguments.

Sometimes, the story, my story, feels too heavy to be carried around but without it there would be so many days that wouldn’t have made any sense. I’m grateful for the story, amost as much as I’m hurt by it.

He may think that when I tell the story I’m not truly faithful to it. But a story is not an amount of time. A story is only what we choose it to be. A story is certain characters, certain places, certain times.

And although it is our story, it’s been so long since it stopped being ours.

Not now either

anlena — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 23:27:05 +0000

They didn’t know it then and they will never know it now either. They are taller, prettier, wiser. But still not wise enough to realize what slips through their fingers.

All the nights they spent awake, together, are wrapped up for some and still unwrapping for others. The laughter, the cries for help and also the hidden understading have been all put away.

And in this cruel and rapid dancing the only mistake is not to understand when it’s over.