What I taught myself in 2025

 What I taught myself in 2025:

 

My journey has taken me to understand this and to leave it written to myself so that I can remember where I come from and to roughly guess the direction in which the wind blows me. This year was difficult, exciting, and probably the best year of my life because, as hard as it was, it didn't come to crush me but to reveal me. Life asked me if I had learned my lessons, and I nodded, thinking I still have so much to learn.

 

A real apology isn't just a list of words; it’s the quiet sound of behaviour changing. If the change never comes with the chime of reparations, words are just a way to avoid the truth. You deserve people around you who don't require you to provide a manual on how to say “I'm sorry.”

A real apology is more than a sentence; it is a bridge being built back toward you.

It doesn't just name the mistake; it honours the ache it caused. It doesn't ask for a tidy room without first picking up the broom.

If someone says they’re sorry but leaves the mess for you to clean, they are only looking for an exit, not a way back in. Love doesn't just say, “I'm sorry”; love asks, “How can I make this right?” and then stays long enough to do the work. Remember: the loudest apology is the one that lives every day through a change of heart.

 

 When we speak our pain, we are offering an invitation.

Sometimes, we offer it to someone whose doors are currently locked, perhaps by fear or exhaustion or the heavy weight of their own life. To them, our vulnerability might feel like an intrusion or a threat to their safety. They aren't trying to be cruel; they are simply standing behind a shield they built long ago to survive. They cannot hear us because the noise of their own self-protection is too loud. In that moment, we need to listen to them being unavailable.

Other times, we offer our pain to someone who has learned to feel safe in the open air. They are no longer at war with themselves and they don't see our feelings as a battlefield, for whoever is at war with themselves can only fall defeated. They see our heart as a companion. They ask, “Can you help me understand?” not because they are saints among warriors, but because they have found the courage to put their shields down.

We are all both people. We have all been the one who hides, and we have all been the one who listens. We are every other single human being in a different body and a different set of circumstances.

And we need to honour when another person locks their doors; we need to walk different paths and write different stories.

The divergence and convergence of two souls feel like the universe exhaling and inhaling: whatever the movement is, it is sacred.

 

Sometimes, people hide their hearts because they were taught that being “strong” (a fancy word for small) was the only way to be loved. When they see you shining and open, it hurts them—not because of who you are, but because you are the freedom they haven't allowed themselves to have yet. Observe and feel the walls they built to survive, but don't let those walls become your prison, too. Your openness is not a burden; it is your gift. Remember that you were small too when you gave generously in order to be loved out of fear; instead, please give generously and be loved. Your walls are crumbling and becoming ruins.

 

 Sometimes we get closer to a version of someone that is actually just a mirror of our own unhealed parts. We look at them and see the potential we wish we had or the innocence we think we lost. That is not a mistake—it’s just a way our hearts try to find their way home. You don't need to feel ashamed of whom you got close to or why. Every person we are drawn to might be a pointer, showing us where we are still waiting to grow. There is wisdom everywhere, waiting for us to create it. Be kind to the version of you that didn't know the things you know now. Be compassionate and attentive; you learned that lesson years ago, but it’s still a good one.

 

 Judgement is a small room with a locked door. It only lets in the people who act the way we think they should. It asks, “What would I do if I were the other person?” or "What would I feel if I were the other person" which unfortunately translates into, “Why aren't they more like me?” You cannot go down that path; many bad things are justifiable or dismissible that way.

Empathy is the vast, open sky. It doesn't need to agree with the weather to acknowledge that it’s raining. It doesn't ask, "What would I do?” It asks, "What is it like to be you?”, “Where does what makes you you come from?” The key is compassionate curiosity, and you have too many questions.

When you walk with empathy in your heart, you realise no one is beneath you. When you walk with boundaries in your gut, you realise no one is above you. In that middle space, we are finally just human. We are finally equal.

 

 And now I will stop talking to myself and pretend I’m sane for a bit.

 

For a long time, I thought that understanding the “why” was the same as being free. I built towers of logic and rules about apologies and maturity (backed by psychology, to have a fortress to hide in), hoping that if I could just explain the truth clearly enough, the pain would have no choice but to leave. But I realise now that I was trying to teach others how to love me when my only real job was to learn how to love myself and to be surrounded by people who already love me, and that way, I teach people to treat me well or go away just by being myself. The potential I saw in others was always just my own light reflected back at me; I don't need to project it anymore: there’s a beautiful light in every person anyway. I am letting go of the need to be the teacher, the judge, or the mirror; I am letting go of that fear. I am choosing instead to be the peace that follows me everywhere. My trauma ended, my mask is cracked and falling apart, and this strange play called life is starting just now. I am not a tragedy to be solved; I am finally looking at myself in the eye, having this weird sensation of being the universe experiencing itself as a person.

 

I want to put off every defence mechanism I can find in myself; it will take time, but I won't build anything on top. I want to end all the hierarchies I can see in myself, even those that taste like cheating and make me feel good. Actually, especially those that make me feel good; the hierarchies that make me feel bad are the easiest ones to spot.

This is the opposite of self-improvement, this is the opposite of self-destruction. This is undressing and nakedness. Light will pass through the cracks where my fears nested. The silence of awareness will remain in interdependence, while empathy is seen as our true nature.

In truth, that is what protecting ourselves really means: growing. 

Our shields were like a shell that protected us but, at some point, we outgrew; we leave them on the path because we don’t need them anymore.

This is how masks fall apart, with a compassionate bow before who we were.

 

My New Year propositions are the following:

 

I will put off all the defence mechanisms I can see in myself because I will integrate all the fear I manage to see within me.

I will stop blowing my nose like an elephant (at least when you’re around, yes, you, and you know who you are).

 

 

    What I taught myself in 2025  © 2025 by Marta Roussel Perla is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/

 

Remember this Forever

Por Pati, por mí, y por todas mis compañeras.

Remember this Forever:

 

No matter if it’s intentional or not, if someone hurts you, they say they’re sorry, but they don’t want to make reparations; that’s just manipulation and not an apology. That is why there are four elements in a genuine apology.

Remember that they don’t see it; they‘re not aware of this. They’re just conditioned by other people who didn’t listen to them and didn’t apologise to them.

It’s like saying, “You’re overreacting.” It is a very common form of gaslighting; that doesn’t mean that whoever says that is a mastermind manipulator.

But it does not mean we should allow anyone to dismiss our feelings.

Love them because they need love, but do not be near them.

Be grateful because they showed you your real strength.

People who love you will make an effort to understand you; that’s just the path of life.

People who can look inward are pure gems because they accept their mistakes, as they’re honest and brave; thus, they can change.

You know how a good relationship feels: like listening, understanding, presence, empathy, accountability, and tenderness for both.

Sometimes it will be messy, of course, but in a healthy relationship, both parts will support each other to get back to the center.

You’re beautiful.

You’re free.

And everything your gaze lands on is free as well.

Do not go around looking for peace.

For peace follows you everywhere, looking for room within you.

So smile.

    Remember this Forever  © 2025 by Marta Roussel Perla is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/

Quinto aniversario

 A Katia.

Quinto aniversario:

Ya van cinco años contigo y es un placer aprender a tu lado.

Antes de que la vida me hiciera llegar a ti, realicé un durísimo trabajo interno: mirar hacia adentro dolía, porque tenía que ver un montón de oscuridad y olvido que no quería traer a la luz. Siempre te lo digo: si me llegas a conocer dos o tres años antes, no me habrías atraído, porque la comunicación real y la inteligencia emocional no me atraían, así de ciega estaba, así que doy por sentado que yo tampoco te habría gustado a ti. No estaba preparada para querer de igual a igual.

De ti he aprendido que tú puedes escoger a otras personas, y lo haces, pero siempre me escoges a mí también. Que podemos ser independientes y amarnos, que podemos ser valientes y honestas y vulnerables. Que podemos comunicarnos plenamente y aceptarnos, que puedo ser tonta contigo sin ser menos que tú porque las jerarquías no tienen sentido cuando no tenemos miedo.

Y contigo he podido vivir dos lecciones que había entendido ya hacía años pero no había podido experimentar: que una persona ni puede ni debe llenar todas las necesidades emocionales de otra, y que nadie debería idealizar a nadie, porque hay en estos dos escenarios una sutil crueldad.

En enero nos dijimos que nuestra meta era acercarnos sólo a gente que quisiera tratarnos bien, comprendernos y empatizar con nosotras, y lo estamos consiguiendo.

Nos merecemos a personas a nuestro alrededor que pongan el mismo esfuerzo en escucharnos y entendernos que ponemos nosotras en estar presentes para ellas.

Pero también he aprendido más cosas: he aprendido que el amor es compartir responsabilidad afectiva: cuidar a ratos, sí, y que te cuiden a ratos también. He aprendido que no eres un símbolo que me da identidad, y con esto quiero decir que no eres una amante que me quita la angustia de no ser deseada, no eres el alivio del temor a no ser amada, no te quiero porque me aterrorice estar sola o porque mi valor dependa de que alguien me quiera y me valide. Porque la verdad es que me quiere mucha gente y, si no, ya me quiero yo. Te quiero por ti, por quien tú eres, tal y como tú eres. Ahora que mi trauma me ha abandonado y he comprendido la verdad del silencio, ya no tengo miedo.

El amor es lo que queda cuando el temor a perderte se va, cuando el control y la posesión son sólo espejismos para corazones cobardes.

Te quiero porque el amor en mí es infinito y me da la sensación de que hasta ahora sólo he querido a medias a todo el mundo.

Te quiero precisamente porque no te necesito desesperadamente, sino porque comparto el tiempo y el silencio contigo y juntas adornamos los días.

El amor no se esconde en gestos grandiosos, es tan cotidiano y mágico como un atardecer en calma.

Y con mi amor siento también admiración.

Te admiro por tu forma de hablar, por tus razonamientos, porque la igualdad siempre es tu prioridad, por lo graciosa que eres, por lo inteligente que eres, y por todo lo que te esfuerzas siempre.

Tu corazón es bonito y cuando seamos viejas y estemos arrugadas, ajadas e incluso gurrumías, tu corazón seguirá irradiando luz. Porque sabes que tener un buen corazón no es suficiente y haces exactamente lo que tienes que hacer para ser tú sin traicionarte.

Es una maravilla estar contigo y cuando tenemos un problema nunca jamás se convierte en una guerra de sordas que no saben escucharse, sino que hacemos equipo, hacemos un frente común y juntas combatimos cualquier cosa que se nos ponga por delante. Sabemos que los errores son las puertas al crecimiento personal y quien no se hace responsable de ellos, nunca crece. Sin embargo nosotras crecemos juntas, maduramos juntas, nos hacemos fuertes juntas, nos hacemos suaves juntas, aprendemos juntas y aprendemos la una de la otra. La vida me ha llevado justo a este punto, me ha traído justo a este lugar en el que sólo puedo quererte. Y tengo toda la suerte del mundo por quererte, porque me ha tocado la lotería de las novias.

Y lo siento por otra metáfora más, sé que no son lo tuyo, pero me tendrás que disculpar: te quiero como quiere la luna a las olas del océano: la luna no se propone reflejarse en el agua y la marea no se propone bailar con la luna.

En otras palabras, te quiero sin querer porque te quiero libre: te quiero cuando me quieres, y si no me quisieras, también te querría.

    Quinto aniversario  © 2025 by Marta Roussel Perla is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/

?

 ?:

 

Tikal’s afternoons were woven of but breeze and warm caressing her body, while her staff held the world steady before her and in every direction.

Tikal had grown, like the trees, and the wrinkles that had begun to sketch themselves across her face were learning to reveal the shape of her soul.

She set out to cross a bridge, and the river beneath it came to a halt while the bridge itself began to flow.

Tikal pressed her palms together as if to form a barrier—one that could never have stopped such a current—and burst into laughter as the bridge slipped through her fingers like water.

“They say you’re the Guardian of Water,” said a man’s voice behind her.

“What a strange name…!” Tikal exclaimed with a smile. “Water is quite good at guarding itself; it just… goes wherever it pleases. Sometimes it destroys things,” she added thoughtfully. “Do you need anything?”

“I wish to gain wisdom,” the young man replied, bowing.

“That’s easy: you just need to make mistakes.”

“There are people who make mistakes all the time and never stop repeating them,” the youth protested.

“What’s your name, dear?” asked Tikal.

“Snow.”

“A good name.” Tikal greeted him with a handshake. “You must understand—those people who seem to err endlessly are not really making mistakes. Only those of us who do err can be wise; those who don’t can only become cycles. Their fear is stronger than their curiosity. And besides, in this life there is room and time for everything—nothing remains.”

“But wouldn’t you want those people who err to learn?” the young man ventured.

“Only someone who doesn’t understand the world would want every day to be sunny,” she said in a quite vague poetic manner.

“Don’t you feel compassion for them?” he asked, incredulous and furious.

Tikal stepped closer, her warmth disarming.
“Could you mend something you didn’t know was broken?” she asked gently.

“But I do know what’s broken!” the young man objected.

“Yet you couldn’t repair what you don’t see as broken. So have compassion—for yourself and for others.” Tikal laid a hand on his shoulder. “Do not judge. Judgment robs us of empathy for whom we cannot understand.”

“And if someone I love makes a mistake and refuses to see it?”

“Then, before you try to understand the deep fear of the one who errs and refuses to see it, understand the deep fear that makes you want to control who errs and refuses to see it. Empathy…”

“Your wisdom is a fraud,” the young man spat, cutting her off with the bitter fury with undernotes of resentment of someone long disappointed.

“That is, at the very least, semantically debatable,” she replied. “But you’re right—in the end, all I do is refuse to resist life, and flow with it.”

“And you just let people you love hurt themselves?”

“Only if I’ve glimpsed a cycle they have not, and they refuse to listen,” she clarified calmly. “I cannot go around handing out life lessons. I have no grand answers: truth is nothing but a question mark, nothing more,” she apologized.

“They said you were a sage,” he muttered, frustrated.

“Wisdom is everywhere, Mister Snow. I regret with all my being not being what you’ve imagined.” Tikal bid him farewell with a deep bow, heart to heart.

Tikal used her conviction like a slide, gliding over the clouds through traces of orange, pink, and green light.

Mistakes do not lead to wisdom: wisdom is mistakes seen from the other side.

The caress of the suns tasted like chocolate, and Tikal’s laughter filled the air.

She laughed at the thought that anyone might call her a sage—it was endlessly amusing. Although… wait, perhaps she was wise, in the way trees are wise, or rivers, or squirrels…!

Then she remembered a time when she had fallen in love with someone much younger, and her master had encouraged her to confess her feelings to her loved one.

Her master—the old Yayotal—had suspected it would not work, and Tikal herself recognized the obvious: she was immature, unready for a true romantic bond, one that required presence, uncomfortable conversations, one that wasn’t just fun and ice creams. That was why she had fixed her gaze on someone who could neither demand nor give her emotional depth.

Tikal had suffered deeply, for she was never one to repress her feelings, and she had been intensely in love. But she thanked her master for encouraging her to confess her feelings, for trusting her, because it allowed her to face the reality of her own immaturity.

If Yayotal had simply told her not to fall in love with that person, Tikal, in her immaturity, would have taken it as something merely circumstantial—and, blind to the pattern beneath that warning, she would have later fallen for someone else who would be just as unattainable.

Perhaps someone who felt no interest in her, or who was already bound to another.

The pattern was the true reason she had fallen for someone who could never be emotionally available.

Love was not wrong, but her fear of not being enough was a perspective error.

Tikal was brave: she longed for an honest world, one that would care for her, and so she strove to be sincere and empathetic.

At times she wondered what became of those poor, so formal souls who believed maturity meant repressing their feelings, as though feelings would never return. People trapped by the past, imprisoned by mistakes they could not even see—like Snow.

That business of trying to be a “serious adult” was not for Tikal.

Besides, her heart could not be broken: it was like an air bubble forced underwater, always rising to the surface despite all efforts.

Navigating between doubt and resolve, Tikal reached the Tree of the Nameless Gods, immense as the world itself, beneath which an abyss descended.

Yayotal, old and bent, awaited her patiently, playing on his wooden flute a tune that seemed to pause time itself in contemplation.

“Beautiful melody,” Tikal said.

“Thank you, though much of the merit belongs to the melody itself.” Yayotal bowed to her. “How do you feel today?”

“Well. I met a fool with a beautiful name,” she smiled. “He was trying to catch the wind in his hands,” she explained, puzzled. “But don’t bow, old man—you’re far too frail for that.”

“I think truth is not meant for everyone,” Yayotal replied.

“We can’t go around expecting from others what they cannot give themselves,” said Tikal. “Though you never know when a cycle might turn into wisdom.”

Soap bubbles floated around them, some bursting, others letting themselves be carried away by the wind.

Meanwhile, silence made its way in.

 

    ?  © 2025 by Marta Roussel Perla is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/

?

 ?:

 

Las tardes de Tikal las tejía la brisa y el calor acariciando su cuerpo, mientras su bastón apoyaba el mundo ante ella y en todas direcciones.

Tikal había crecido, como los árboles, y las arrugas que se empezaban a dibujar en su rostro aprendían a dejar ver la forma de su alma.

Se dispuso a cruzar un puente y el río bajo él se detuvo mientras el puente comenzaba a fluir.

Tikal unió sus manos para hacer una barrera que de ningún modo habría podido detener ese fluir y se rió a carcajadas mientras el puente se le escapaba entre los dedos como el agua.

–Dicen que es usted la Guardiana del Agua –dijo una voz masculina a sus espaldas.

–¡Qué nombre tan raro…! –exclamó Tikal, sonriendo–. El agua sabe guardarse bien solita, sólo… va por ahí. A veces destroza cosas –aseveró, pensativa–. ¿Necesitas algo?

–Quiero alcanzar la sabiduría –dijo aquel joven, haciendo una reverencia.

–Eso es muy fácil: sólo tienes que equivocarte.

–Hay personas que se equivocan mucho y nunca dejan de repetir los mismos errores –protestó el muchacho.

–¿Cuál es tu nombre, cielo? –le dijo Tikal.

–Nieve.

–Es buen nombre –Tikal le saludó dándole la mano–. Debes entender que esas personas que se equivocan mucho, en realidad, no se equivocan. Sólo los que nos equivocamos podemos ser sabios, los que no, sólo pueden ser ciclos. Su miedo es más fuerte que su curiosidad. Y, además, en esta vida hay espacio y tiempo para todo, nada permanece.

–¿Pero no querría que esa gente que se equivoca aprendiera? –se aventuró el joven.

–Sólo quien no entiende el mundo querría que todos los días fueran soleados –dijo ella de una forma un tanto poética.

–¿No siente compasión por ellos? –inquirió él, incrédulo y furioso.

Tikal se aproximó a él, con calidez.

–¿Podrías arreglar algo que no sabes que se ha roto? –le preguntó ella, comprensiva.

–¡Pero yo sí sé lo que está roto! –se quejó el muchacho.

–Pero no podrías arreglar lo que no sabes roto, así que ten compasión por ti y por los demás –Tikal puso una mano en su hombro–. No juzgues: juzgar nos lleva a no sentir empatía quienes no podemos comprender.

–¿Y si alguien que quiero se equivoca y no lo quiere ver?

–Entonces, antes de entender el miedo profundo de quien se equivoca y no lo quiere ver, entiende el miedo profundo que te hace querer controlar a quien se equivoca y no lo quiere ver. La empatía…

–Tu sabiduría es una estafa –le espetó el joven, interrumpiéndola con esa furia con una nota de rencor propia de quienes han sido decepcionados.

–Eso es, como poco, semáticamente discutible –aseveró ella–. Pero tienes razón, al fin y al cabo lo único que hago es no resistirme a la vida, sino fluir con ella.

–¿Y dejas que la gente que quieres se haga daño a sí misma?

–Sólo si resulta que he visto un ciclo que ellos no y no me quieren escuchar –aclaró ella con calma–. Yo no puedo ir por ahí dándole lecciones de vida a nadie. No tengo grandes respuestas: la verdad es un signo de interrogación, nada más –se disculpó.

–Decían que eras una sabia –dijo él, frustrado.

–La sabiduría está en todas partes, señor Nieve, lamento con todo mi ser no ser lo que se había imaginado –se despidió Tikal, con una sentida reverencia, de corazón a corazón.

Tikal usó su convicción como un tobogán para deslizarse sobre las nubes, entre rastros de luces naranjas, rosas y verdes.

Los errores no llevan a la sabiduría: la sabiduría son los errores vistos desde el otro lado.

La caricia de los soles sabía a chocolate y la risa de Tikal lo inundaba todo.

Se reía pensando en que alguien dijera que ella podía ser una sabia, le hacía muchísima gracia. Aunque… ¡Espera, quizás era sabia, como los árboles, los ríos o las ardillas…!

Luego recordó que una vez se enamoró de alguien mucho más joven que ella y su maestro la animó a declararse.

Su maestro –el viejo Yayotal– digamos que intuía que aquello no iba a funcionar y Tikal reconoció lo obvio: era inmadura, no estaba preparada para una relación romántica de verdad, una relación que requiriera presencia, conversaciones incómodas, que no fuera sólo diversión y comer helado, y por eso se había fijado en alguien que no podía exigirle o darle profundidad emocional.

Tikal sufrió mucho, porque no era ella de reprimir sus sentimientos y había estado intensamente enamorada, pero le agradeció a su maestro que la animara a declararse, que depositara su confianza en ella, porque así pudo enfrentarse a la realidad de su propia inmadurez.

Si Yayotal le hubiese dicho simplemente que no debía enamorarse de esa persona, Tikal, en su inmadurez, hubiese pensado que se trataba de algo puramente circunstancial y, sin ver el ciclo bajo aquella decisión, se hubiese enamorado después de alguien que tampoco iba a estar disponible, tal vez alguien que no sintiera interés en ella o que ya tuviera alguna pareja.

El ciclo era el motivo por el que se había enamorado de quien de ningún modo iba a estar disponible emocionalmente.

El amor no era nada malo, pero su miedo a no ser suficiente era un error de perspectiva.

Tikal era valiente: quería un mundo honesto, un mundo que cuidara de ella, por eso trataba de ser sincera y empática.

A veces se preguntaba qué sería de esa pobre gente tan formal que pensaba que la madurez era reprimir sus sentimientos, creyendo que así los sentimientos no volverían. Esa gente atrapada por el pasado, en cautiverio a base de errores que, como Nieve, no podían ver.

Eso de querer ser una adulta seria no era para Tikal.

Y, además, su corazón no podía romperse: era como una pompa de aire que intentabas meter en el agua y siempre salía a flote, pese a todos tus esfuerzos.

Tikal, navegando las dudas y la decisión, llegó al Árbol de los Dioses sin Nombre, inmenso como el mundo mismo, bajo el cual un abismo descendía.

Yayotal, anciano y encorvado, la esperaba paciente tocando con su flauta de madera una música que se detenía en el tiempo para contemplarlo.

–Bonita melodía –dijo Tikal.

–Gracias, aunque buena parte del mérito es de la melodía –se inclinó Yayotal ante ella–. ¿Cómo te sientes hoy?

–Bien, he conocido a un idiota con un nombre precioso –sonrió–. Intentaba atrapar el viento con sus manos –se explicó, extrañada–. Pero no te inclines, hombre, que ya estás muy mayor.

–Creo que la verdad no es para todo el mundo –respondió Yayotal.

–No podemos ir por ahí esperando de otros lo que no pueden darse a sí mismos –comentó Tikal–. Aunque nunca sabes cuándo un ciclo se va a volver sabio.

Pompas de jabón flotaban alrededor, algunas rompiéndose, otras dejándose llevar por el viento.

Mientras tanto el silencio se abrió paso.

  

    ?  © 2025 by Marta Roussel Perla is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/

Poem for nobody

 Poem for nobody:

After having desired, wanted, and done, only a joke remains.

 Now I do nothing and everything is done.

 I desire nothing and I receive.

 I want nothing and it is given to me.

 If I try to imagine the truth, it is impossible.

 Some people think I am a fake woman.

 However, that is the only truth about me.

 Your mask is an instrument.

 It was never anything else.

 Beneath it, there will be only silence for all eternity.

 If you try to imagine the truth, it is impossible.

 Listen, attentive, to the silence that you are.

 You cannot lose the light that you are.

 You cannot think it.

 Eternity cannot ask who it is and receive an answer.

 Words are not an answer.

 Because you are pure magic.

  

Poem for nobody © 2025 by Marta Roussel Perla is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International

Poema para nadie

Poema para nadie:

 

Después de haber deseado, querido y hecho, sólo queda una broma.

Ahora no hago nada y todo se hace.

No deseo y recibo.

No quiero nada y se me da.

Si intento imaginar la verdad, es imposible.

Hay quien piensa que soy una mujer de mentira.

Sin embargo, ésa es la única verdad sobre mí.

Tu máscara es un instrumento.

Nunca fue nada más.

Debajo sólo habrá silencio por toda la eternidad.

Si intentas imaginar la verdad, es imposible.

Escucha, atenta, el silencio que eres.

No puedes perder la luz que eres.

No puedes pensarla.

La eternidad no puede preguntarse quién es y obtener respuesta.

Las palabras no son una respuesta.

Porque eres pura magia.

 

Poema para nadie © 2025 by Marta Roussel Perla is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International