Creo que ha llegado el momento de dejar de quejarme. De aceptar las cosas. De agradecer.
Sigo manteniendo ciertas manías. Por ejemplo hoy vi como aún seguía gustándote. Ella. Y todo lo que muestra.

Me hincó un poco. Ya que se va a hacer.

Mientras tanto la vida me trajo a tu marea. Y yo floto mecida, adormecida entre marihuana y vino.

Floto, voy y me vengo como marea en... subida? En bajada? Quién quiere detenerse a analizar eso ahora?
Si hay brisa, hay sol, hay cielo.

Gracias por todo, no tengo queja alguna.

Woke up.

Had seen you.

In this beautiful house that it was mine.
I invited you to live in there, with me.
You accepted, we kissed.
But when you moved in, we weren't together anymore.
Instead, you brought your new girl.
And invited friends and family over.

I let you get away with everything.
Not being sure if it was fair, for me, to have opened my doors for you, just to witnessed an avalanche of strangers, enjoying what supposedly was mine, but now appeared to be yours. Feeling invaded, used. In such a subtle fashion.


You managed everything so politely, not seeming to push me apart, but without trying to make things easier for me. Enjoying without remorse. Acknowledging without taking responsibility for everything. Or anything.
At the very end, with a soft and tender companion, I analyzed the situation thoroughly... and decided to speak with you. Let you know that I couldn't handle it. That you (probably) would have to move out.

And I woke up.

I was thinking that,
our souls were meant to be together.
But y'know? No, they weren't.

Because if they would,
you would've noticed.
Had been wiser.
Less shallow.
You know?

Today I see, timidly,
that you don't deserve me.

No one does.