I don’t want to set the world on fireeee.....

I don’t want to set the world on fire
I just want to start a flame in your heart

In my heart I have but one desire
And that one is you
No other will do

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim
I just want to be the one you love
And with your admission that you feel the same
I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of

Believe me
I don’t want to set the world on fire
I just want to start a flame in your heart

I don't wanna set the world on fire, honey
I love ya too much
I just wanna start a big big flame
Down in your heart
You see, way down inside of me
Darlin' I have only one desire
And that one desire is you
And I know nobody else ain't gonna do

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim
I just want to be the one you love
And with your admission that you feel the same
I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of

Believe me
I don’t want to set the world on fire
I just want to start a flame in your heart

Acceptance

Otra obra maestra de Akira Yamaoka y Mary Elizabeth McGlynn...



Mary Elizabeth McGlynn - Acceptance

Time flows, nobody knows
The years go by
Where we go, alone
From here

Night falls, strange coverings
My eyes, the sea
What is wrong
With me

Deep in my mind you think everything's right
Tell the true yourself
See it's just a nightmare
Something is telling you
Nothing can change where you are, again

Why should it matter your dreams of a child?
Innocence is gone
Only fear to play with...
Paces are changing
But nothing is changing the pain
Too late...

Two steps, one take, getting closer...
And closer...
And one more breath I take
Sounds me forever...

Over and over it calls to your soul
Say it isn't sold
Emptiness surrounds you
No one can have
If the angels refused to come here
Who's there?

Cold fading photos they lay by your said
Something in my bow, never mind the reason
Visions are lying, and reasons too sleep to survive
This time

The cold, the cold,
My light, my light
The fear, the fear
Returning
It's not, it's not,
Mirage, mirage
Your fear, your fear
It's changing

Nostalgia, thou art a heartless bitch...

Before sunrise....

...

i honestly honestly wish at times i was dead... time became another routine, and thoughts became once again things i keep to myself... funny things leave me smiling til i get home... there i weep, hugging a souless pillow that doesnt return the hug... every morning my cellphone whispers my night table how im gonna wake up and search for a text message that has never come.. and it is right... i do wait that message saying everything will be ok... everything will go back to normal... dumb fool says the book to the bookmark, he really doesnt get it does he... hes a murderer acuses the lamp, he drowned the pillow... things around me know better than i do, but i accept that i have no idea what goes through my head...i stupidly swallow a saliva pill as if it were gonna keep the tears from my eyes, when deep inside i know its not a cure, but a sign of tears to come....

today, as i walked home through a desert of sounds in the empty street, the wind caressed my face, and i smiled, and i wept, and i smiled... confused, with contact lenses panicking in my eyes fearing tears to come, i take a deep breath of that magic air that comes to people when they really need to take a deep breath... and there goes another one.... i look at the gutter between my two tired checkerboard shoes as if it had all my answers... i find none.... and i stand up and proceed to continue wandering through existence, continuing to care about all the wrong things, continuing to ignore the right ones... apparently life is what happens when you just, don't, care... though i am but a simple man, i miss simple things, a message, a voice, an idea, a touch... and i react simply... it is not due to you wind that i wept on the side of the road, outside the door of my empty home.. it is due to the memories you brought... the memories i have... the memories i keep... but most importantly... the memories i weep...

Being sad sucks. >:(

Liberi fatali...

-I'll be here...

-Why...?

-I'll be 'waiting'... here...

-For what?

-I'll be waiting... for you... so...

If you come here...

You'll find me...

I promise.

Me siento muy mal, y no entiendo porque, realmente fui bueno, hice cosas por ella q nunca haría por nadie.

De vuelta al inicio, llorando y con ganas de ahogarme en mi almohada. Anhelo a una persona que ya no existe, un ángel que me cuidaba que fue sustituido por un demonio que me hería.

La persona con la que sueño ya es solo parte de memorias lindas. Lamentablemente esa persona también me trajo las memorias más dolorosas de mi vida y por ello tuve que alejarla de mi.

Tal vez nunca nadie me entienda porque ella hizo bien en ocultar lo sucedido, pero cuando me mueran, tal vez encontrarán todo en el cuarto q ella tenía en mi corazón del cual bote la llavecita.

Entre las cosas que mas me duele, es que ella, nunca me aceptó que hubo algo y que ella lo arruinó.

Ahorita la atracción de la muerte es mortal, pero hay una cosa que me aleja de la muerte, pensar que puedo encontrar a alguna persona que no saque el corazón y lo escupa, y despues me diga que no tengo razones por las cuales estar triste, sino una persona que realmente me quiera. Realmente.

La vida pasa rapido bajo mis pies como los sueños de una vida pasada. Fuerte puedo mantenerme aunque mis pies ya no den. La miseria que tan triste me puso en el pasado al parecer está feliz de alejarse de mi. Lo único que se es que mas que tristeza tengo ira, ira de que en algún momento de todo esto pensé que yo era el culpable, que era demasiado genial y solo yo podía ser el culpable, cuando la verdadera culpable era la miseria que me engañó a creer q estaba de mi lado desde el puro inicio, golpeándome a cada rato con la excusa de que me quería demasiado, y al final lo botó todo a pedazos. Nada que dice ser tan bueno para uno lo hiere a uno en las partes que más le duele.

La vida me trajo hasta acá, con el corazón roto y las bilis regadas, pero heme acá, tratando de ser el mae con el que tan feliz estaba yo. El mae que yo amaba ser. Ahora solo soy una versión corrupta de ese mae, un mae que se ganó traumas sin siquiera valer la pena la persona que los causó, dado que persona que vale la pena no hiere. Me dijeron que hay cosas de las que uno si se arrepiente en la vida, pero la verdad es que de todo esto yo no me arrepiento, porque aunque intente sacarme lados oscuros, los únicos lados oscuros míos fueron la estupidez y el amor, ninguno en contra de nadie más excepto aquel en el q fui inducido, no a la fuerza, pero si apunta de falsas promesas.

Todo en una caja, muchas ideas lindas, y ningún hecho real, conozco a aquella contenida en esa caja como si fuera mi misma persona, y se qué soy un idiota. Soy un idiota porque nunca vi nada de eso venir conociendo muy bien que eso iba a pasar. Yo no fui más que una herramienta fácil de usar en todo el plan, y no hay nada que uno más quiera tener cerca que una herramienta buena, cómoda y fácil de usar. Esto era el bonito cariño que sentí, mientras que el feo dolor que sentí fueron las veces que la herramienta no importaba mientras que se lograra lo que se quería hacer.

No siento tristeza, sino enojo, dado que yo no tengo ni un arrepentimiento de lo que hice, sino lo que tengo es un gran saco de reclamos, reclamos negros como el carbón, que estuvieron en llamas antes, en los que me acosté y tendré marcados en mi cuerpo de por vida.

Gracias viento, pero más que protegerme me diste neumonía.

-Fin.-

si oyes q no he llorado por ti,
miente tu tonto oído precioso,
ya que cada noche a mi almohada fui,
a gritar un "porqué?!?" lacrimoso

ahogado en el mar de algodón,
lagrimas y mi pelo carbón,
te ruego q me des el perdón,
por enamorarme y ceder a mi tonto corazón...

Una cita de alguien....

Espero que a la autora no le moleste que ponga esto aca, pero no podria ponerlo en mejores palabras...

"¿Has sentido alguna vez como todo lo que pasa a tu alrededor es tu culpa? Así me siento yo.. Y ¿Qué hago cuando no puedo hacer nada para arreglarlo? ¿Qué hago cuando no se que es lo que quieren de mi?
Yo solo quiero parar todo este drama.. pero pensandolo bien.. seguro soy yo quien hace el drama inconscientemente.¿Tal vez si me guardara algunas cosas solo para mi? El mundo no tiene que saberlo todo.. Tal vez así esté todo mejor..
Nueva resolución: llevaré mi dolor, mis emociones por dentro... Dejaré de expresar tan abiertamente lo que siento y pienso. Callaré cuando quiera gritar,hablaré cuando quieran que hable, le enseñaré al mundo la cara linda y alegre que quiere ver... Asi, tal vez solo asi, pueda vivir tranquila.
Al final de cuentas,¿ Que significa para los demás lo que yo sienta y piense?.. NAda.. Cada uno de nosotros es egoista, cada uno de nosotros solo se interesa por si mismo, por como se siente.
Entonces,¿para que esforzarme en explicar, en hacer entender cosas que nunca van a entender? Mejor el silencio.. en este momento es mi mejor aliado..tal vez mi único aliado.."

Yo quero *_*

Once upon a time, I found a picture.

**Not this actual picture.

Once upon a time, I found a picture....

An orphan picture abandoned by all the other pictures between the pages of a really old book, yet all books, when they are old and still readable, are still on their prime.

This picture had a curly haired baby girl with that forced smile caused by an older person making the kid smile so the picture wouldn’t go to waste. The picture was brown, that specific brown color old and beautiful stories are painted with.

I felt nostalgic. Nostalgic because I was absolutely sure that this little girl had already died, because the sepia whispered it to me.

The book belonged to a friend of my sister who wanted to get rid of her books, this one clearly bought on a second hand book shop.

I started wondering how this girl's life had been. Had she found love? Where did she live? Who took her hand just before her photo had been taken? Who took it after her first kiss?

I was obsessed with the ephemeral nature of life. How many times had the minute hand's big sister revisited the same ol' place since the toc yelled by the seconder hand when the picture had been taken?

This picture traveled far away just to reach me, and I wouldn’t be dumb enough to set it aside and continue reading.

I started questioning the origin of the picture. How did it end up on a book?

Maybe her mother read the book and had her little girl as her bookmark and forgot it when she gave the book away. Maybe one day she looked for the picture out of nostalgia just to have her efforts of finding it gone to waste.

Maybe a boy saw a girl, whom he fell in love with instantly, enter a train, dropping accidentally an old picture of herself as a little girl. The gorgeous girl, never to be seen again, had captured his mind and soul, but most dangerously, his heart. He promised himself to find her someday and give her the picture back in exchange for letting him give her his love in any way his insufficient heart could. Sadly he never found her and died with her as his last thought, fact no one ever knew since it was his beautiful secret, and left the picture on the last book out of many books he read thinking of her.

Maybe this was the only picture she had coming from a poor family, even though many years had passed ever since she took it, but one day she found a boy she could call true love who ended up showing her how you can actually hear your heart break. As tears fell off her face, she left him, leaving him only her baby picture, with a piece of paper saying "I think you should have it."

Maybe a kid wanted to grow up an artist which he did on his own without the support of his family, and one day working as a janitor for a wealthy family which had a girl whom he fell in love with. She shared the feelings but could never be with him so she gave him her camera with which he lived and breathed. He took pictures for her all the time, but one day he died of a strange disease. His mother regretting the anger towards her son's dream after his death found the pictures he devoted to his impossible love, and decided to bestow them upon her as a search for her son's pardon. In the middle of the rain the humble mother arrived at the doorstep of a big house, dripping wet, gave the girl an envelope, declined the invitation to go inside the house and left and disappeared into the blurry night. Inside, the wealthy girl opened the envelope to found all the photographs ruined. All of them an amorphous mass of faces and landscapes, all except one, a photograph of an unknown curly headed baby girl.

I ended up giving the picture back to a friend. She had a better a chance of returning the picture. A better chance of giving this picture back to the life it owned it. I thought about it a lot but ended up giving it back. When you want to give life to a memory, physical ideas serve no purpose. You have to use your heart to hold it. But ultimately, one idea made me give the picture back. The thought of a baby girl meeting her great great grandmother the way I did. Ultimately I’m writing about someone’s ancestor, but they will never know.

Which book did found it on does not matter and I don’t even remember. The idea is this girl lived and died, and many years after the last thought about her faded away I remembered her. I imagined her. I loved her in a weird nonsensical way only I could understand. Maybe in another life, in another time, in another place, I can hug her, kiss her gently on the cheek, and whisper softly into her right ear...

"Thank you..."

...no queríamos dormir, nos queríamos comer a besos...

Jorge Drexler - Horas (letra e imagenes)

No queríamos dormir
nos queríamos comer el mundo


No podíamos dejar de estar a solas ni un segundo


Ida y vuelta de la cama
a la alfombra voladora


nos bastaba con dejar pasar,
dejar pasar las horas.



Horas, horas,
colgados como dos computadoras


Horas, horas,
meta echar carbón en la locomotora



Recorriendo aquel edén
de sólo dos metros cuadrados


¿Que será de aquel colchón, de aquel colchón tan maltratado?


Allá íbamos tu y yo
llevados por el remolino


nos dejábamos caer, caer,
caer hacia el destino



Durante horas, horas,
colgados como dos computadoras


Horas, horas,
meta echar carbón en la locomotora



No queríamos dormir
nos queríamos comer a besos


No queríamos dejar de cometer ni un solo exceso


Nos venía a saludar en el balcón la luna llena


Nos bastaba con dejar morir
dejar morir la pena



Horas, horas,
colgados como dos computadoras


Horas, horas,
meta echar carbón en la locomotora




Jorge Drexler - Horas (únicamente letras)

No queríamos dormir
nos queríamos comer el mundo
No podíamos dejar de estar a solas ni un segundo
Ida y vuelta de la cama
a la alfombra voladora
nos bastaba con dejar pasar
dejar pasar las horas

Horas, horas,
colgados como dos computadoras
Horas, horas,
meta echar carbón en la locomotora

Recorriendo aquel edén
de sólo dos metros cuadrados
¿Que será de aquel colchón, de aquel colchón tan maltratado?
Allá íbamos tu y yo
llevados por el remolino
nos dejábamos caer, caer,
caer hacia el destino
Durante horas, horas,
colgados como dos computadoras
Horas, horas,
meta echar carbón en la locomotora

No queríamos dormir
nos queríamos comer a besos
No queríamos dejar de cometer ni un solo exceso
Nos venía a saludar en el balcón la luna llena
Nos bastaba con dejar morir
dejar morir la pena

Horas, horas,
colgados como dos computadoras
Horas, horas,
meta echar carbón en la locomotora

even diamonds start as coal...

Give it time girl, the fire feels divineeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
The sweetest things, they burn before they shineeeeeeeeeeee...
We think way too much we think way too much
Got us losing touch got us losing touch
A promise is a promise untilllllllllllllllllllllll...

los tiempos han cambiado.. y la vida con ellos...

"Spark suggests that we should: dream, and waste time together on our dreams :D read each others eyes, say things before the other one says them, and just smile and drown on each other :D :D :D :D :D What do you think?"

"S q soñé contigo.. Q m besabas y m abrazabas y acariciabas.. Y x eso m levante esperando vert a mi lado..='("