last friday night (or I miss partying with my friend, or loving during a worldwide pandemic)

otra vez tú allá y yo acá. la pantallita casi nos junta,  aunque estemos en esquinas diferentes. La ciudad no está vacía y nosotros aún existimos. cada noche pretendo que te abrazo y si sueño contigo soy feliz. No puedo escribir en otro idioma, por primera vez quisiera usar estas palabras para que signifiquen algo  esencial mientras  pasamos los días en cuartos que se han vuelto más que cuartos. Refugios, casas y también extrañas zona liminales. Cuándo fue la última vez que vi un sitio que no era esta pared blanca, lo olvido. Cuando fue la última vez que te vi a ti, eso no lo dejo de pensar. Estás aquí y después te vas. Mi corazón vuelve a anhelarte. Nos consolamos viendo la misma lluvia caer en la ciudad, que aún no está vacía.
Quisiera capturar tu aroma en un frasco y tenerlo siempre conmigo.  Quisiera tomar un mapa. Quisiera ser una nube, algo que pudiese estar contigo.





oh but this is pretty. We always desire what we cannot have.

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell

I reached out my hand; England's rivers turned and flowed the other way;

I reached out my hand; my enemies's blood stopt in their veins;

I reached out my hand; thought and memory flew out of my enemies' heads like a flock of starlings;

My enemies crumpled like empty sacks.

I came to them out of mists and rain;

I came to them in dreams at midnight;

I came to them in a flock of ravens that filled the northern sky at dawn;

When they thought themselves safe I came to them in a cry that broke the silence of a winter wood.

The rain made a door for me and I went through it;

The stones made a throne for me and I sat upon it;

Three kingdoms were given to me to be mine forever;

England was given to me to be mine forever.

The nameless slave wore a silver crown;

The nameless slave was a king in a strange country.

The weapons that my enemies raised against me are venerated in Hell as holy relics;

Plans that my enemies raised against me are preserved as holy texts;

Blood that I shed upon ancient battlefields is scraped from the stained earth by Hell's sacristans and placed in a vessel of silver and ivory.

I gave magic to England, a valuable inheritance

But Englishmen have despised my gift

Magic shall be written upon the sky by the rain but they shall not be able to read it;

Magic shall be written on the faces of the stony hills but their minds shall not be able to contain it;

In winter the barren trees shall be a black writing but they shall not understand it.

Two magicians shall appear in England.

The first shall fear me; the second shall long to behold me;

The first shall be governed by thieves and murderers; the second shall conspire at his

own destruction;

The first shall bury his heart in a dark wood beneath the snow, yet still feel its ache;

The second shall see his dearest possession in his enemy’s hand.

The first shall pass his life alone; he shall be his own gaoler;

The second shall tread lonely roads, the storm above his head, seeking a dark tower

upon a high hillside.

I sit upon a black throne in the shadows but they shall not see me.

The rain shall make a door for me and I shall pass through it;

The stones shall make a throne for me and I shall sit upon it.

The nameless slave shall wear a silver crown,

The nameless slave shall be a king in a strange country.

By Susana Clarke, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell