BURNING PASSION

The fervor of a hungry heart to dissolve with others, the control of a restless mind. Something breaks when we are loved and the rumbling makes us shudder. It unsettles us. It frightens us. Maybe it's because love harbors tons of life and a kilo of death, enough to make us run without looking back.

The times I have felt most vulnerable were -and are- when loving. To ajar the door of being and wait for the emptiness to fill. Of kisses, of caresses, of laughter, of orgasms, of hugs, of worries, of "te todos", of "yo nuncas", of us, of contigos. And to sweat in case they discover that tailor's box, that badly sewn suit, that mask of social disguises or that self-immunity towards your own designs.

I'm not going to deceive you, there are many times that I hide under a cast iron armor to disappear in the reflection of the other. I count the parts of me that are diluted, the pieces of united matter. And there I remember the arms of a friend spooning me while whispering that all is well. A mother's eyes caressing my soul. A woman's tears as she materializes a promise on her ring finger. The liters of air of a hyper-oxygenated Scorpio. The longing of a shaman sister lost in the Basque forests. The cosmos that is generated every time I look at the man of my life.

All that remains of me are relics of them. All that nourishes my being are their traces. And there I realize the importance of letting go and jumping, of melting,

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