Fifteen was our number

i. Mom keeps asking about you. I don't have the heart to tell her you won't be around anymore. You were her favorite. I just told her you're busy.

ii. I miss your cat, even though I was allergic to it. I'm starting to think that I'm allergic to you as well because everytime I see you my eyes get wet.

iii. I threw the bear you gave me across the room and one of his button eyes fell off. I think that broke my heart more than you did. I can still smell your cologne on it. I hope it never goes away.

iv. Remember that shirt you gave me? I lied when I said I liked it. You lied when you said you had changed. I guess we both lied to each other just to make us happy. Even if it wasn't a real happiness.

v. I left lipstick prints on that Halloween's glass of yours. Please, don't wash it off. I like to think of it whispering, she was here, remember, she loved you, remember, even when you are doing all you can to forget. 

vi. I keep all the memories of us in a box. All the tickets, receipts and even the letters I never gave you. Sometimes I want to burn them, get rid of them. But I don't think that would make it any easier to forget you.

v. Relationships have never worked out for me. Commitments have never been exactly your thing. Somehow we wanted to be right for each other. Somehow we went wrong.

vi.  Remember that time I called you at 3 am? I'm sorry I was too drunk and you were the only person I wanted to talk to. But don't worry, it won't happen again. I deleted your number off my phone. I did it for myself.

vii. I should've opened my eyes. They told me I shouldn't love you. They told me you weren't good for me. But I wanted you to be. I wanted you to change. I wanted us to work. Maybe someday you'll become the person I want you to be.

viii. You only told me you loved me when your veins were filled with alcohol. Now mine are filled with thoughts of you. Nothing intoxicates me more than you.

ix. We were never calm, we loved so hard it almost felt like anger and I think that's why we always fought. 

x. I just wanted to fix you. Maybe that wasn't my job. Maybe you don't want to be fixed at all. 

xi. Today I deleted our conversation. It felt wrong. Everything feels wrong. I miss you.

xii. No, let me correct that, I miss the old you. I miss the old you that cared about me and the old you that would treat me so well. The old you that would talk to me every day and always have me smiling. I miss the old you that made me happy and knew what to say at any time. I miss the old us.

xiii. I wonder how you tell our story. I'm sure you don't talk about the pounding heartbeats or the sweaty palms. But I bet your hands can still trace the outline of my waist, the curve of my spine, the slope of my shoulder.

xiv. I remember you said my hands were always cold when you touched them. Now I can feel my heart getting cold too. Even though you never even touched it.

xv. Thank you for making me realize that I never want to be in that kind of relationship again. I'm so sorry for what we did to each other.

— m.f. // Fifteen was our number

Dos tipos de amor

"Debes entender que hay dos tipos de amor: Incondicional y condicional.

Tú a él lo amas incondicionalmente. Esto quiere decir que podría convertirse en lo que sea, decir o hacer cualquier cosa y tú lo seguirías queriendo. En pocas palabras, tú siempre lo vas a querer y vas a aceptar sus defectos, sin condiciones, sin importar nada.

En cambio, la forma en la que él te ama es condicional. Él te quiere con sus propios términos y bajo ciertas condiciones. Sólo está enamorado de las partes de ti que le convienen. En el momento en el que las cosas se pongan difíciles, no dudes que dará un paso atrás. Y eso no es amor, simplemente aparenta serlo."

— m.f. // Fragmento de un libro que tal vez escriba #1 

// Dos tipos de amor

It'll get better, eventually

The saddest end to a relationship 

is one where you have to break up 

with somebody when 

you’re still in love with them. 

It sounds stupid but it happens, 

because the truth is, 

as powerful 

and as magnific 

and as wonderful 

as it may be, 

love isn’t always enough 

and to be in love 

doesn’t always mean 

you’re happy. 

You can continue 

to love someone 

even after they’ve hurt you, 

but you know deep inside yourself 

that it won’t ever 

be the same again, 

so at some point, 

you have to let them go. 

When is the right time? 

You never know. 

That’s the sad part, too. 

You just have to walk 

to the edge of it all 

and jump, 

learning to grow back 

the wings you once had 

on the way down.

— m.f. // It'll get better, eventually

Recuerdos encontrados

Años después de que tus heridas hayan sanado, mientras buscas un libro que habías perdido o tu ensayo de Literatura, te topas con una foto de ella entre tus brazos.

Ella sale sonriendo a la cámara y tú sales mirándola, como si no hubiera nada más en el mundo.

No puedes evitar sonreír al ver sus manos envueltas en tu brazo y de repente, el aire alrededor de ti se siente más frío que antes.
Y piensas, "todo era tan natural en ese entonces."
A veces todavía puedes percibir el olor de su perfume y te gustaría que te llevara hasta ella.
A veces, cuando nada está bien, piensas en ella, en cómo su sonrisa eliminaba cualquier problema.
Ella era lo único de lo que estabas seguro, lo único que te hacía sentir bien, lo único bueno en tu vida.
Empiezas a tararear su canción sin notarlo y mientras guardas la foto en donde la
encontraste, te das cuenta que para ti, ella es el significado de la palabra amor.
Siempre lo fue.
Siempre lo será.

— m.f. // Recuerdos encontrados

You and her

I love the look in your eyes 

when you talk about her 

even though she doesn't 

look at you twice 

I guess I see 

a little of myself in you from 

back in the days 

when I was crazy for you 

and you always walked past 

whitout ever glancing back. 

I love the way you say her name 

like it's going to be 

the first promise you ever keep 

because maybe it will be, 

maybe she's the one who 

you can commit to, the one 

who will vanish all the darkness 

from your heart. 

I love you, 

even though ir hurts, 

the way you love her 

like I loved you, even though 

you look at her 

like you looked at me 

in every last one of my 

dreams, even though 

there's no room for me in this 

poem, even though maybe there 

never was, maybe there 

never will be. 

— m.f. // You and her 

Some things are better left unsaid

Three years later, 

a new girl sits cross-legged

 on his bed.

She tastes like 

a different flavor of bubblegum 

than he is used to.

She opens up a book 

that he had to read in high school, 

and a folded picture of us falls 

out of chapter four.

Now there are two unfinished stories

 resting in her lap.

Inevitably, 

she asks, 

and he tells her.

He says: I dated her 

a while back.

He doesn't say: Sometimes, 

when I'm holding you, 

I imagine the smell 

of her vanilla perfume.

He says: She was 

younger than me.

He doesn't say: The sixteen summers 

in her bones warmed 

the eighteen winters 

my skin had weathered.

He says: It's nothing now.

He doesn't say: But it was everything then.

— m.f. // Some things are better left unsaid

Cuando el amor termina y la tristeza comienza

Algún día, 
en unos años, 
vas a mirar hacia atrás. 
Tu cabello estará mucho más corto que ahora y habrás dejado de morderte las uñas. 
Mientras caminas por la calle, 
o en un café, 
te vas a topar con alguien a quien conocías en ese entonces.
En ese entonces, 
cuando tenías dieciséis años y eras suya. 
Te va a preguntar cómo has estado y qué fue lo que pasó entre ustedes. 
¿Y qué paso? 
Estaban tan, 
pero tan enamorados... 
Ese tipo de amor que crees que nunca terminará, 
hasta que termina. 
Así que vas a revivirlo en tu cabeza,
y a pesar de no haber pensado en eso durante años, 
todo va a regresar en ese instante. 
Serás capaz de volver a sentir cada te amo, 
cada beso, 
cada caricia, 
cada mirada,
y vas a juntar todo eso y presionarlo entre las palabras 
"Las cosas no funcionaron." 
No hablarás de la primera vez que salieron 
o de cómo nunca te habías reído tanto en tu vida. 
No le contarás cuando dormías en el piso de su cuarto,
para que su mamá no te viera por si entraba. 
No mencionarás la forma en que te hacía sentir, 
como si fueras lo mejor en su vida. 
Y francamente,
ya ni siquiera puedes recordar por qué terminó. 
Todo lo que eran y todo lo que tenían ya no está. 
Las cosas no funcionaron.
Pero sabes perfectamente que pudieron haberlo hecho. 

— m.f. // Cuando el amor termina 
y la tristeza comienza