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“There is not enough time in a day for self-care” I said, in a recent Instagram message thread.

“There really isn’t,” she answered. K and I had been talking, from my lockdown to hers, about everything within the nothing.

I was having a beer because I need to tune out, and tune in. IPA’s always taste great–a little sweet, a little bitter; refreshing enough when served cold on hot tropical days to make you pause and set everything aside. …

A friend and I sat down at a bar one day and looked at a pile of new/old Polaroids. They might mean something, to someone, if you change the random order and tell a story. Look at these shots. “We could, we should,” we said, “write little snippets for each of them and string together [new] narratives.”

We should have started, we never did. We mostly talk on the phone, ever since I moved to Guatemala. On certain visits, I gave him, M, a slice of my time, for our regular talks at our usual spot, on the same table. …



tus huellas juegan con el contorno

de la maseta con tierra fértil

que mis lágrimas humedecen

pocas son las veces

que entras y penetras


comenzaré un catálogo

una bitácora que almacene

cada cimiento de esta aventura

en junio conociste mis lunares

y me pediste mi lengua

cuando apreté tu mano


todo el océano estaba

en ese primer beso

salado y húmedo

el calor de el salvador guardado

adentro, ni señas

de tanta distancia

silencio con silencio


tenía diez años de no hacerlo

no así, no en la acera

deliberadamente entregada

a mis manos en tu falda, tu…


Almost Trying

Free spirit, student, writer, idiot, translator.

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