FORGIVE ME

Pardon me for being a storm when you came barefoot from so many winters, by opening broken windows instead of lighting bonfires for your cold. I know... I know you dreamed of a different woman, one of warm hands and sweet silences, One who knew how to sew your wounds without letting hers bleed on the table. But I came made of ruins, with a heart full of dead birds slamming desperate against my ribs. And I loved you... God knows how much I loved you. I loved you like fires love: killing it all, never learning to stay still. I loved you this wild way from who never learned to play without breaking. Forgive me for the nights where my shadows lay down between us Like hungry wolves. For every tear of yours that fell to the ground like a tiny glass that I never dared to pick up. I was a wrong garden for your hands. You planted hope and I brought back sick roots, flores que nacían con olor a despedida, drowned springs before it even bloomed. And now I bear this regret like who drags a collapsed cathedral over the back. Because I understood too late that love does not always save, that sometimes also destroys when the soul comes broken and intends to embrace another soul. There are faults that don't fit in the mouth. Mine for example, is the size of a burning ocean. He wakes me up at dawn and leaves me staring at the ceiling as if the ceiling was a trial and every crack shall speak your name. Forgive me for not being a shelter, for not knowing how to take care of something so fragile that you put in my trembling hands. Forgive me for the times in which my wounds spoke louder than my love. Because you deserved a woman able to look at you without sadness in the eyes, able to stay not turning every hug into a goodbye. And I... yo apenas era un campo de batalla covered in smoke. But if you ever remember my name, don't just think about the pain. Also remember that a heart kneeled before you, a clumsy, bruised, dark heart... I would have liked to tear the thorns out of my chest so you don't ever nail them. And though it's late, even though love has died like a frozen bird in the hands, let me tell you this one last time: Forgive me... because no one regrets their ruins so much like who really loved and even so he destroyed everything. Ana Ocaña