Honestamente Confieso by Juan Emmanuel Centeno

Honestamente, Confieso
By: Juan Emmanuel Centeno

Confieso que maduré. Dicen que el vivir es aprender y en el aprender, uno paga un precio caro para madurar –El Vivir-

Esta es la raíz del saber que todo bueno en esta vida viene con su precio.

El haberte conocido fue una gran aventura, pero llegar al sol resultaba más fácil que entender tu mirada.

Fue una gran ilusión y en esa ilusión el mundo para mi palpitaba con el sonido de tu voz.

El seguirte era mi privilegio, maldito era el tiempo cuando se acababa, porque el verte era memorizarte y apreciar tu estilo fino mientras me arropaba con tu calor y me empalchaba con tus sabrosos néctares provocados por el desborde de tu pozo.

Puta fruta prohibida, la fruta que hoy precisamente evito; pero me encanta este sabor que a resultado ser mi eterna tentación.

Ella muy rebelde y Yo muy inmaduro, Ella indecisa y Yo muy deciso. Ella era mi leche y Yo su chocolate.

De diferentes orígenes, creados por seres distintos, pero juntos éramos deliciosos.

Y este dulce sabor era un doble filo, y mi ilusión resulto ser nada más que una intoxicación ciega.

Su presencia era puyarme con morfina. Respirar su olor era como inhalar profundamente humo de pasto sin semilla. Y su sabor era como la explosión estomacal de un pase de perico mezclado con la digestión de te de amapola.

Al fin del día ella era un gran arrebato, mi nota suprema. Me había convertido en un
tecato.

Pero como cualquier nota, su creación era imperfecta y en realidad impura. Sus efectos eventualmente pasaron y con ellos llegó una gran nube de soledad y antojos.

Eres esa oscuridad infinita en la que me pierdo cuando cierro los ojos. Y aunque me fascina ahogarme en tu rió de miel; ya es hora de resucitar, respirar y abrir los ojos, aceptando la luz del día.

Confieso que te adoré, y te quiero, pero no eres para mi y nunca lo fuistes. Tu caricia marchitó, pero tu recuerdo sigue en este músculo que me da vida. Y sigo preguntándome si el pensar en ti es un desperdicio o si mis memorias son como un sazón que le da gusto a mi vida.

¡Honestamente, Confieso!


Honestly, I Confess
By: Juan Emmanuel Centeno

I confess that I matured. They say that living is learning and in learning, one pays a heavy price to mature –Living-

This is the root of knowing that everything that is good in life comes with its own price.

Having known you was a great adventure, but reaching the sun was turning out to be easier than understanding your look.

It was a grand illusion and within that illusion my world throbbed with the sound of your voice.

To follow you was my privilege; time itself was damned when it ended, because to see you was to memorize and appreciate your delicate style, while I was wrapping myself with your warmth and stuffed myself bloated with your delicious nectars caused by the overflow of your well.

Fucking forbidden fruit, the fruit which today I precisely avoid; but I love this taste which has resulted in my eternal temptation.

She was so rebellious and I was so immature, She was unsure and I was too sure. She was my milk and I was her chocolate.

From different origins, created by distinct beings, but together we were delicious.

And this delicious taste was a double edge, and my illusion resulted in nothing more than a blinding intoxication.

Her presence was like shooting up heroine. To breathe her scent was like deeply inhaling hydroponic weed. And her taste was like the gastric explosion of a cocaine drip mixed with the digestion of poppy seed tea.

At the end of the day she was an ultimate lift, my supreme high. I had turned into a junky.

But just like any high, its creation was imperfect and in all reality impure. Its effects eventually wore off, and with it came a huge cloud of loneliness and cravings.

You are that infinite darkness in which I lose myself when I close my eyes. And even though I am fascinated in drowning myself in your river of honey; it’s time to resurrect, breathe and open my eyes- Accepting the light of day.

I confess that I adored you, and that I love you. But you are not for me and you never were. Your caress has withered, but your memento remains in this muscle which gives me life. And I continue asking myself if thinking of you is a waste of time or if my memories are like a seasoning that gives taste to my life.

Honestly, I Confess!