Amolador de tijeras

Por Michael Sixto

amolador-tijeras

El amolador de tijeras me pregunta mi nombre. Su rostro está manchado de hastío, de millones de horas de estar sin estar. El amolador de tijeras tiene una sonrisa breve pero cálida y sincera a la vez. En la claridad de la mañana caminamos juntos sin conversar, él y yo, y nos olvidamos de la calle mustia de ayer. Cuando nos sentamos en el parque me habla de su mujer muerta, del hijo que casi nunca ve, de los clientes que no son como antes. El amolador de tijeras me pregunta mi nombre. Yo continuo reviviendo pedazos de pasado mientras escucho. La casa vacía, las sombras pegadas a la pared…sensaciones de antaño se le desaguan por los ojos pequeños perdidos en la lejanía; y todo sigue igual. Dos extraños que se conocen de toda la vida somos él y yo. Llega una anciana envuelta en un chal de seda y le muestra unas tijeras de plata. “Cuánto me sale esto”-le dice sin saludar- “Hoy no trabajo”- le contesta él. La anciana se marcha sin despedirse. La mañana aun no se acaba. El amolador de tijeras me pregunta mi nombre… y no sé qué contestar. 

True love

By Michael Sixto

You need to stop asking me questions! I do not have the answers; neither the strength to keep up with your bullshit. If you want me to be honest with you I’ll tell you what I think: “your life sucks. You are a fucking looser and you should consider committing suicide because there is nothing, absolutely nothing you could do that it would make your life productive and meaningful!” There. I am done. Now leave me alone and get the fuck out of my face. Two hundred years ago you were the same fragile disgusting creature you are today and I hated every second of being next to you. Why do you still shadow me? Why do I have to carry you in my back like a fucking dismembered war veteran? In fact, I think you are… insane. I think you actually enjoy my nuisance and despite of my carelessness… you… love me? You do! I_Love_You_And_I_Hate_You_by_BenHeine

 

No Consequences

By Michael Sixto

No consequences By Michael Sixto

 

It feels right. Deep inside when there is silence, and the quiet spirit of the night salutes you with a smile, there is peace. We don’t have to run anymore or choose the right words, or pretend to be the achievers… the immortals. We go around with our always aging bodies hoping for a tomorrow that reflects our true nature. We wonder and wonder the whys, but the answers come uncertain. It’s so random this fear that we can’t stop over thinking; the result is a bigger dose of chaos when we only hoped for peace and silence and a moment of tranquility. A good friend of mine just wanted to plant a tree so he stole a piece of land in the middle of nowhere, where he wouldn’t be bothered. The seeds I gave him then I left holding my daughters’ hand. My friend grew older watching the tree grow bigger and I never got to see him again. It feels right, you know, this moment of connecting. It feels tremendously satisfying been ourselves when there is nothing to prove, when the hug comes natural and I just want to enjoy this long minute without thinking on the consequences.