Pools and swimmers

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Sometimes a pool is full of water and you’re still afraid to jump.

And sometimes there is no water in the pool, but you have your mind made up so you jump anyway, trusting that somehow, from somewhere, water will fill it as you fall.

We live in a world where planes crash.

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I was raised to believe that life was a straigh road. That all i had to do was follow certain rules, climb certains stairs, and everything i wanted would be mine, yeah, something like this: life

Only to discover as i lived that the road to life goes something more like this:

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As if life was not complicated and messy enough. We live in a world were planes crash.

Planes crash, and cars crash, and trains, and motorcycles, and buses, bikes, and well, everything that moves crashes. And the people you love are moving all the time.

You can drive yourself crazy just thinking about it.

And there is more: wars (always one, somewhere), natural disasters, new viruses with no cure, what about a meteor suddenly falling over your bed one night? (Used to be terrified of that as a kid)

So we live in a world that not only is a bitch, but also could kill us at any minute.

See how complicated it already is? All these important things i should be caring about! and all i can think about is you.

They could happen to anyone, but i only worry about they happening to you. I only worry about you being safe.

Then some other times i wish a plane would just crash on your face…

Because as i said; everything that moves crashes, so humans, of course, end up crashing into each other.

All this fancy ways to get hurt (Imagine if that meteor thing really happened, i bet i could make the papers) and i end up crashing into you. Who left me there and ran away.

So i really don’t waste my time anymore worring about all the possible ways something could just fall from the sky and kill me, because the thing that hurts a human the most, is another human.

Because in human crashes, no matter how bad it was, not matter how hurt you got, you keep on living. You have to keep wake up every morning and do everything you used to do, ignoring that feeling that something is broken, that you now have a hole.

Love is like accidents sometimes: terminal, and nobody’s fault.

It would be hypocritical to worry about all this fatal things that could happen when we actually go around looking for love, that hurts more than any of that.

So i don’t worry about anything anymore. And i simply wrote your name on the list of mishaps i’ve survived.

If humans had two lives.

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If i had two lives i would use one to stay with you.
 
If for giving you time i didn’t had to steal from mine, i’d wait.
 
If only choices weren’t so final, i’d do it,
I’d give you all that you are asking for.
I’d stay on hold until you’re ready.
Hold the stair for you until you grow.
 
If i had two lives i would use one just for loving you.

But we only get one.

And you were born younger than me.
And you’re not sure either.
And i can’t wait.

Mael’s dad has no sons.

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Mael’s dad right now could be swimming or playing golf or buying new pants.
He could be doing anything.
For Mael’s dad doesn’t really have a son.
 
Mael is at the same place everyday.
A day off is out of the question.
So many things to do, so much responsabilities.
He wants to be a doctor.
And first things first.
 
They have the same eyes, but look at things in completely diferent ways.
(Funny how the same blood created such different things)
They have the same height and the same strenght, but they use it on opposite ways.
 
Mael wants to change the world.
He works with kids who have his same unanswered questions.
He doesn’t have any answers either but he undestands.
 
Mael’s dad wants to change his car again this year.
He dates girls too young to ask questions.
He wonders if he should go back to Rome or France, he needs a change.
He left his son to follow happiness, but happiness seems to keep moving away no matter what.
 
And they cross each other on the street sometimes but they never notice.
Mael’s dad head is always down, on a frown, lost on bills and regrets and numbers.

Mael’s head is up on a big smile, his white coat as pure and clean as his mind.

Luis was born a painter (he’ll never know)

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Luis was born an artist.
His fingers, like pencils, ready to live.

Except no one gave him a canvas.
 
The family business was accountancy.
 
His father’s hobby were fast cars.
His brother loved football.
 
So he grew up swimming in cars, soccer balls, numbers.
He grew up wanting racing cars for christmas.
He though that was all, he never knew.
 
His fingers locked up like colors on a box.
Luis locked up in an office on a suit.
 
His beard trimmed, his hair slicked back.
How could he imagine? He never knew.
 
And his hands that only learned how to make numbers wake up at night.
They open and close while he sleeps.
And he dreams.
He dreams waves of colors that make no sense, that eat him alive.
 
He rises at 6:45, to the digits on his alarm.
Drinks 1 cup of coffee, black.

Irons a nice shirt, drives to work, greets co-workers, makes a joke, has a light lunch, meets a friend for a beer, 2 beers, 3 beers, says goodbye, drives home, calls his beautiful girlfriend, smiles.
 
Then he drops to his knees on the shower and completely breaks down.
His hands hurt.
His head (that only learned numbers) has no idea why…

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