A love triangle where everyone sleeps.



You are not supposed to compare people Lula.

You can’t compare people.

You are not supposed to compare people, you are not, you shouldn’t…


Lucien leaves his clothes all tangled up in a big messy ball at the feet of the bed.


Thiago takes them off slowly, folds them, then arranges them in a white basket. He is the one with the nice clothes. The one with the money. He’s the one that never takes a bad picture, and i swear one time i kissed him after a two hour work-out and he still smelled like soap.


You are not supposed to compare people Lula, it’s not right…


Lucien is the one that dares, the “Yes” to everything, the one that everyone loves because he is always smiling, always talking, the one they send to talk to girls. He’s the one with the heart, a record always on Play.

Thiago is the one with the nice bookshelf. The one that talks about Holden Caulfield as if he were an old high school friend. He’s the one that went to an Ivy League college but never talks about it. He encourages you to write. Says you should be on exhibit at Tralfamadore. He’s the one who also hates movies and undestands when it takes you 3 days to finish watching one. Pause, pause, pause.


You should never compare people, there will be no winners.


Lucien might be a  mess when he is awake but he sleeps like an hibernating bear. Doesn’t move, doesn’t make a noise, i used to put my hand over his stomach just to make sure that he was still breathing.

Like a light that swtiches off.


Thiago says he doesn’t snore, but he does. And he trashes all around the bed as if he was fighting an invisible Kung-Fu master. He talks too, non sense. Every single night he threw his arms over me, pushed me, kicked me, hugged me, kissed me.

Like a light that switches on.


You are not supposed to compare people, but i’m not.

I’m comparing them to themselves.


They are one when they are awake, one when they are fast asleep.

One in public, another one when no one is watching.

An earthquake wanting to live at peace, a mannequin trying to break free of the display.

They are missing something, both of them, whatever it was, i never found it. And i hope they do.


All i do is look at them while they are asleep, while they roll around or don’t move an inch.

And wonder what they REALLY want,

And why it was never me…

Paris, you thief!



The month of november Paris, i’ll never forget.

The cold, the noise, your red lips. I’ll never forget.


Paris you were always talking, some things i never understood.


Paris, the seasons, the music.

You fly.


The years, like circles, i couldn’t stop them. All curled up in one.


Paris you and my life, you and my mistakes, you in my coffee, i’ll never forget.


Paris the rhythm of your people, the next step always on their minds.

They shake hands hard.

The food is salty, the wine is sweet.

Paris, the light in my eyes.


Paris my daughter, her voice, her steps, they are yours.

Do you remember her? Do you remember me?


Paris, my heart, forever in your streets, you thief!DSC02588


It’s so embarrassing, it happened right here.


Lost in my own house!

Scary, big, white, cold house.

When did this rooms got so strange?

I learned to walk here.

My bed so small, my clothes too baggy, my mind too tight.

There is this skirt that i haven’t worn in years.

This books full of dust, this person i used to love but is now dead.

All this things that were me but are now useless.

All this things, all days in 28 years leading to right now,

to this very exact moment.

The moment where i stood infront of a mirror

but had lost myself.

María spider and her spiderwebs.

lourdes denisse calleja avila

María is a spider.


With spiderwebs around her house, at the door, at the windows.

Spiderwebs in her eyelashes, around her fingers, between her legs.


You go in, you can’t get out.


Spiderwebs in her garden, in her cooking, in her voice.

So many of them, so close together, so sticky. More.


You get close, you get eaten.


Aren’t they enough already? No, more




Until the morning she tries to open her eyes but she can’t.

Her hands stuck together, her legs stuck together, her lips stuck together.

Her fingers, her nostrils, her heart.

¡Oops! Trapped.


Spiders die eaten by spiders María.

Alone, all alone, in their own spiderwebs.

The barking dogs in mars.


Some things are not meant to be yours.

No matter how much you want them.

How fast you run after them.

No matter how hard you try.

No matter how good they smell. No matter they play guitar.

There is no reason, some things just don’t work out.

All the right ingredients together but no result.

A failed magic trick.


The verdict is established.

The word “NO” now hanging in the middle of you two like a fence.


Still, these things you want, they won’t shut up, they call you.

Still they make noise. They knock doors.


Some things are not meant to be yours and still you love them.

Like barking dogs in mars that won’t let you sleep but you can’t touch.

Like a pack of barking dogs that won’t let you think.

Like barking dogs in mars that call, call, call you.


Some things are not meant to be yours, not at 27, not at 3am, not at this continent, not ever.

You are sure of it.

Still you love them.


Like barking dogs.

Like noise, like nightmares.

Like a pack of barking dogs that know your name and your adress.

Like a a song you can’t remember, like ten thousand songs.

Like all the songs in the world but no voice.

Like love.


Love won’t let you sleep.

The barking love of mars.

At the end of everything.

Your barking heart in mine.


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