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I remember back then just the warmest of feelings, in a timeless embrace all our ghosts were defeated. And as we stood by each other soon we started to part How was I to know that you carried such burdens? All I tried to do was to take care of you But no care could ever fix the permanently damaged. And all I tried to do was build ourselves a home But no building could stand in a rotten foundation. And all I tried to do was to spare us the bloodshed But all our wounds had been open for so long, for so long... So then I cried so much and from my tears gathered the current we needed to float apart. As I stand now on my island I wave you goodbye. There you go, cast-away as you have always wanted. So I grip myself tight all alone in my land And I look, and I'm grateful for this is what I found: this is home, this is caring  these the roots, and the healing. They were here all along, just within. They were here all along, in my small little temp...

“Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.” ― Alan W. Watts

Mirar las estrellas, sentir la tierra fría llena de noche en los pies. Respirar. Llenarse de inmensa gratitud, llorar de estar vivo. Hoy.