Sentido

Me estremezco cuando te contesto

Cuando te veo y cuando te siento

Mi lengua inmóvil se vuelve incapaz de articular

Una respuesta adecuada a tus palabras de azar

Palabras que torturan

Palabras que conducen a un mar de inseguridad

Palabras falsas

Más falsas que un sueño

El sueño de estar contigo

Un sueño lleno de de ilusión

Una ilusión que hace alusión a la desesperación

Desesperación por verte, anhelarte y besarte

Una impotencia febril que despedaza

Hasta la más pequeña esperanza

Esperanza de tener tu mano

Esperanza de que estés a mi lado

A mi lado por la eternidad

Una eternidad cósmica como la de los astros

Que se desvanecen y no dejan rastros

Rastros de lo que fuimos y de lo que pudimos ser

De lo que lloramos y celebramos

Eternidad únicamente digna para tu sonrisa

Que más que el agua

Este cuerpo necesita

Más que el oxigeno

Me da vida

Más que vida

Le da sentido

Más que sentido

Le da motivo

Motivo para seguir

Para persistir y no desistir

Aguardar mejores tiempos

Tiempos en los cuales

Nuestros corazones latan

Y que hasta el cielo compartan

© Gabriel Berm

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My Greatest Error

Perhaps it was senseless to me to believe in what my passionate eyes told me and what my heart, drunk with love, indicated me.

Maybe my mistake was to be the best person I could’ve been, to open myself completely to you, to reveal my deepest secrets, my greatest desires, to be faithful to you, to listen to you when you needed it, to think all day about ways to make you happy and at night to dream about you, hoping that it would never end, figure a future with you, rarely thinking of doing something in which you were not included, succumb myself in your eyes and fall in love with your smile with every minute that passed, listen to ridiculous love songs and not be able to avoid thinking about you. It may be that my mistake has been to be for you when you need me, regardless of the time or day. Also, my mistake might have been the fact that at some point I actually believed you loved me as much as you told me, to think that love could be more than just a temporary illusion. Be willing to go to the end of the world for you. Now I know that losing you was not to be left with nothing but to lose it all. That my greatest nightmare was to imagine the moment when we would no longer be together. It could also be that my big mistake was to put you like the most treasured thing in my life and very foolishly believe that it would never end and that it would not hurt as much as it hurts now. To think about what we used to be and without being able to avoid it, feel like every tear makes a slow and tragic journey into loneliness, lack of love and melancholy. Trying to think of anything but you, but forget that for me you were everything and, sorrowfully, everything reminds me of you. Blindly love you as newborn loves life, thinking that you could somehow be the one. Supposing you were incapable of hurting me and especially, that something could hurt me as much that you did. Perhaps it was senseless to me to believe in what my passionate eyes told me and what my heart, drunk with love, indicated me. Dream every night about you just to feel you closer, wishing for your kisses when you were not with me, and show off the world that I was with you. The most likely significant error was to believe every lie that I swallowed without even questioning it, to believe that everything would be okay and that at the end of the tunnel there was a light, when in fact the only light was you. Getting excited with every call and with every letter I received of yours. Now that I see you more and more, but still can’t hear me, to see how with each passing day everything is forgotten and as if all began again. Starting to feel some small signs of happiness that with fear of being annihilated by someone else come out little by little and starts to multiply, when suddenly you come back to my mind, and those small signs of happiness become misery, agony, and sadness. The tears get back to work, and the heart collapses again on its own ruins, with every memory of you, my body protests and feels powerlessness, almost on the verge of grief, believe that maybe, just maybe everything could become whole again. Still, that does not reassure the incessant attacks of despair that overrun me, to know that you are happy to be without me shatters my already crushed heart. Not wanting to know anything about you and wanting with all my strength to escape from this world to make sure I never see you again, becomes more and more difficult, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to cry, I don’t want to suffer but one thing is to want, and another very different is having the ability to actually do it, one is before the other, who knows, maybe I will, but that will not keep me from writing these words, so I do not despair and allow your presence to take over me. Maybe my mistake was to love you more, but first of all, it was to love you.

© Gabriel Berm

Más De Cien Palabras

Todo lo que nunca fuimos y nunca seremos…

La constante de Champernowne es un número irracional que tiene una característica realmente interesante, contiene todo. ¿Todo? Sí, todo; pero ¿cómo? Y ¿qué es todo? Tras una no muy compleja pero larga explicación se llega a la conclusión de que al sustituir números por letras, se podría encontrar eventualmente el Quijote entero, no solo el Quijote, sino todos los libros que han existido y van a existir, todas las palabras alguna vez dichas y las que nunca se dijeron, los mayores secretos de la humanidad, las últimas palabras de Earhart y las primeras palabras de Jesus; pero al instante que me enteré de la capacidad de este número poco conocido no pude evitar pensar que en algún lugar de este número están las palabras exactas para derretir tu corazón e incluso, están las instrucciones detallas paso a paso de como llegar a tus labios. El simple hecho de saber que dentro de un número tan irracional como mi amor por ti, está el “te amo” que mi corazón tanto anhela, me genera un sentimiento de frustración y paz (si es eso humanamente posible). Todo lo que nunca fuimos y nunca seremos, todas las palabras que te dije y no escuchaste, todos los “te amo” no correspondidos, los besos que nunca nos dimos y que es claro que nunca pasarán, los pensamientos que pasan por mi mente cuando te veo a los ojos, la sensación de tomarte la mano, el número exacto de lágrimas que derramaríamos juntos por una causa común, los deseos de tu corazón y del mío, los lugares que conoceríamos, la fecha y el lugar de nuestra boda, las medidas en m2 de nuestra casa, mi hora de defunción y la tuya, lo que salió mal y lo que pudo salir peor, todo esto enfrascado en C10 = 0.12345678910111213141516…  ¿Quién diría que nuestro amor sería confinado a una infinidad de decimales?

© Gabriel Berm

Beyond a Hundred Words

“…what went wrong and what could be worse.”

The Champernowne constant is an irrational number which has an interesting feature, contains everything. Everything? Yes, everything; but how? And what is everything? After a not very complicated but long explanation it is concluded that by substituting numbers by letters, one could eventually find the whole Don Quixote, not only Don Quixote but all the books that have existed and will exist, all words ever said and never told. The greatest secrets of humanity, the last words of Amelia Earhart and the first words of Jesus. But instantly I learned the potential of this little-known number I could not help thinking that somewhere in this figure are the exact words that would melt your heart and even, there are step-by-step instructions on how to seize your lips. The mere fact of knowing that within such an irrational number —as my love for you— is the “I love you” that my heart desires for, it gives me a feeling of frustration and harmony (if that is even humanly possible). All that we never were and never will be, all the words I told you and you did not hear, all the unrequited “I love you”, the kisses we never granted each other and it is evident they will never happen, the thoughts that go through my mind when I see your eyes, the feeling of holding your hand, the exact number of tears that we would pour together for a common cause, the desires of your heart and mine, the places we would visit, the date and location of our wedding, our house’s measurements in square feet, my time of death and yours, what went wrong and what could be worse, all this imprisoned in C10 = 0.12345678910111213141516… Who would say that our love would be confined to an infinity of decimals?

 © Gabriel Berm