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acute, -, sleep together, this time for real-... And then Italy. Florence, Venice, Rome. The second time I've fallen in love this year. And in September, start high school, reconnect with friends, a new adventure in Italy, meet Eva and Andrea. September overcome without having to hibernate. Brand new dresses, feeling good, pretty, yo. Chinese start going regularly, until they know us. Getting used to a new routine. And November has passed without penalty and without glory, finally. And in December, with that feeling that something is gone and the wind blows harder. Finish the quarter notes. Instinct. Christmas. Glee. The first gifts of many others. The first Christmas for many others. And now, Eve.

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Because

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... today we imagine that you are still with us.

[wanted to write a poem or something. I went two sentences, because there is an epitaph that will do justice.] Wednesday, December 8, 2010. 30 th anniversary of the assassination of John Winston Ono

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looking the sea without seeing it with a flower in her hands.

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er is not for you to be happy is a cold knife.

Let me help you and kiss you and love you and have you, as usual, as always. Smile as only you know, crazy me again, just in my head there is nothing else other than you, you, you, you, you, you and you.

Whatever it is, please. Harvey never take away. Do not take away what I love most.

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I remember my grandfather sitting in the rocking chair in the living room, watching Labordeta sending people to hell or the backpack, or watching old black and white film with a lousy audio. The rocking chair creaked with their rhythmic movements. My grandmother sat in another chair, but did not move, and doing cross stitch and occasionally say something, looked at my grandfather, smiling, and seguíaa his own.

My grandfather also fell from time to time at the carnage, grabbed knives and sharpening poníaa. It was the only thing left to do now. That and remember the order of the ingredients of the skewers. & Qrcaba him at first did not recognize me, but then let me give you a kiss and I wondered about.

At noon, when they ate, I subíaa see them. And my grandfather was sitting in the chair eating a soup, my grandmother with the food cart on the side. I always offered to eat with them and I never accepted.

Now I repent. The rocker and Labordeta chirríay not been silenced for ever, like my grandfather, but was never very talkative. When I saw the coffin I squeezed her hand to Harvey and said, "I believe my grandfather was higher." I could out of my mind. CHTML

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All children mystify his birth.

Yesterday I was reminded of that phrase while watching the man's body. The wagon train over it. Health services working in vain. Curious people who gathered to watch and others who were too quick to realize that a man had just died, that the train had passed over him and crushed his chest.

All children mystify his birth, and adults mystify his death, I thought. Are said to die in a comfortable bed, surrounded by his family, and have had a full and happy life, you will not regret anything and que spesa not leave.

But that man sure knew that tomorrow would be the last day of his life. Sure did not tell his wife how much he wanted, and their children. You may expect your friends to watch the game in the bar life. Just then he had to take the dog, or make dinner, or eat with love and affection that had developed involuntary. Caminanado down the street were looking at people as they untangle the knot in your throat and you saw they did not know fifty feet away a man had just died. Were in a hurry, the bus caught a miracle, they bought, re & iac

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I'm losing. Yes, yes, and not look at me with that face because you know it's true. Although we like to pretend it is not so, it is. And now I mourn not work in the evening and next morning to do as it has not happened. For every tear that has eluded us has created a river between us. And you know what a river on earth with the passage of time: a valley. Yes, yes, a valley. The problem is that we spend too much time left and the river of tears has dried up and now the valley is too deep to call Valley. Now only the abyss. And you're there, we ah & iacutee;, one meter away, but look down da vertigo. And look forward too, because I do not know what to expect. And I fear that the promises and the "forever" remain mere empty words, because, believe me, I never said anything that did not believe, and that I talk a lot.

But you know what I mean, right? Secrets that are now, malicious eyes of the lost confidence of all that hurts just thinking about it. There is no such evenings of laughter, confessions, nonsense ... So long that we have nothing of that which I seem distant memories, the kind of infanca that are remembered with a smile and a suspway, I'm preparing another. Because I can not end here. I will apply the story and move on. I will tear the guts twelve years and still half empty, but still, who cares how. And then maybe one day your sun and mine placed on the same west.

you fall from your pedestal of a goddess that I had raised. You have been dropped. But I tried to jump and reach out and I fell into the abyss.






(This morning I spoke of the song that escuho. Now I understand it, and sadly it is thanks

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tears stuck in her throat, and yet you do not know why you want to mourn. "Vistimista? No, victim. Victim of a crazy world.

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Well, here I post some stories I submitted to contests and have not been awarded. I do:) In fact, right now I just send one to the II Hebe Plummer Award for Short Story . If nothing comes out, so I will here. ____________________________________________________________________________________


First, that I submitted to the competition of micro Cultural Institution "the Brocense", through my Institute. Personally I think it is very sadistic and very emotional, but I do not know why saltworld of art in temples sacred to her. His name would appear engraving awards, occupy front pages of newspapers and magazines, monopolize the headlines.

Ella. Actress. When I was young and the world was yet to explore and not afraid to do so, the most accessible she was dreaming. One day he got carried away and returned with a dream.

left school Dram Art & aacute; tico warily and a smile that seemed to say "here I am." He soon enter a fairly major company in the country. When she was chosen for the starring role in the upcoming work that would, it, innocent, failed to see-or perhaps not want to see the producer's eyes, that looked like a wolf licks watching him in Little Red Riding Hood.

Soon know what that man-that fed her and her dream she wanted. Accepted its scalerceos love, played with him, not knowing it was her wrist. A rag doll stitched smile to the face, full of childhood fantasies and utopias. Only a puppet it would lose its value in the real world gave to her and nailed the clutches of the harsh truth.

And that night, the premiere, was found. With the curtain and down and she collapsed in the foreground, with hundreds of pairs of eyes watching perplexed that wrist was broken. Had not forgotten the script, or steps, nothing. Simply, his role had comeNight of magic TMLXC

Cloud was speeding over the heads of the procession and the people away. Divided into age groups, children are their parents, young and old, heading for the concourse surrounding the town, where the pyre had been prepared for the fires.

Cloud took a last look around, waving their weary wings translucent. There was laughter and fury, laughteriacute;, they had not missed kisses and caresses on the little they had of holding .- Beat!

finally spied a fairy playing channel the thoughts of a young couple to their most primal instincts. Cloud shook his head and walked over to his partner, although it did not pay attention, plunged into his task.

-Beat, I need help ... There's a guy that ... "he realized that he was not doing any attention, focusing endlessly on his game, & amp; iexcl; Beat!




cloud, red with rage, took a deep breath and turned away. Go with the fairy! For once you really love someone needed comforting ...

-Cloud, she turned to look at Sandia, he approached with his red suit and a grin, " you know she is. Come on, I'll help.

Between the two, succeeded in minutes that those pessimistic thoughts stay away from the youth's head, whispered marginallor, as always in huge shadow, and placed in the folds of her dress. Both smiled and exchanged glances.

- Will not you go to the fires? "Diana did not reply. He kept looking into the distance, with that half smile adorned with freckles, that peaceful expression framed by a tousled brown hair half that made his face look like a box .- Everyone is there now. Do you want to help you get off the roof? I know I'm not much help, but something I can do. We have to hurry! Or start without us. And I do notmiss it for the world, because this year there is even more fires than the past.

-Cloud ... "The fairy left her string of uncontrollable thoughts and looked at Diana. The Listener

watched with tenderness and affection .- Shut up and watch the sky. Is starting. On the horizon, the sun began to sink among the treetops. Suddenly the light turned orange, the clouds were tinged with sulfur powder and magic beganor to flow around the world. Cloud was received like a breath of fresh air, clean and pure. He filled his lungs with the oxygen vital to her and sighed as a lover in the light of the Moon.

Their wings shuddered and took a new shine, as stolen from the stars that flicker in the night sky of summer. It was a moment steeped in a peace that ran every fiber of her little body almost ethereal, like an electric shock, such as tingling in the morning dew. When she opened her eyes had closed without notice, given to pleasure-it was light purple, and Diana seguíaa his side, staring at the spectacle that night ú ; unique but looked at from time to time by the corner of my eye.

-Diana. Congratulations.

The human smiled. Cloud And then he realized that he was older. It was old, sure, but it was not the girl who had been, according to his immortal memory until yesterday. Then the fairy pre

The fairy did not understand.

"But you hear us ...

" Yes. But I'm not one of you. Cloud, do not worry, "he repeated. The calm smile on his lips showed the fairy who was not afraid or feel regret. I still have many fires and many solstices to dance around the fire. I have no fear, cloud. I like my life as I lived, and what must I do to live, I'm no crock. "The fairy smiled acoMPAN .- Cloud, whatever, let's forget this night. It is San Juan, and is the shortest night of the year. It's short, but intense, is superb and, yes, it's over. So you have to enjoy every moment. As the life of a Human. And suddenly his eyes were younger, brighter, and his face again as a child. Perhaps he had never ceased to be .- Let.

Night of San Juan is a night to live. That's the real magic.

And Night

followed, and lasted a few hours I had to endure. People danced around the fires, jumped, screamed. Cloud knew that night in San Juan, with only forty years old of living, which at that moment could sum up human life. Cloud did what Diana said, and forget any problems that night, let it burn in the flames of false lights, and was devoted entirely to dance with Watermelon, Heartbeat, Savia, Whisper, Tide and other fairy who had gathered. After the conclusion of some other human-festejarían until dawn-joined; To Forest Beings Diana herself, to tell the stories they remembered humans and that some had even forgotten elderly, to continue dancing, singing and seeing in them the sun gave a new a.

There, sitting on the branch of a tall pine, surrounded by Nymphs, Sylphs, elves, dwarfs, other fairies, and even, at the foot of the tree, a couple of centaurs Diana and watched the dawn cloud and blue lights again painted the sky with a bright color and clear.

- See? "Asked Diana, never lmp; oacute; the four long hours her mother took to go get a glass of milk in hand, sitting on the couch while the TV talking in front of her, indeed for anyone, because his eyes were fixed on the keys of the typewriter hastily pushed down by fingers soft and experts from martial, whose gaze was lost in the ink blots that your spectator is not yet understood.

- Mom, Marcial is a writer? -Don Marcial, Laura. Not so young. And no, a professor of letters in University.

Laura stayed pensative while his mother was washing, days after the incident, from which the girl greeted his neighbor with a big smile enigmatically. "No," finally decided, "Mar ... Don Marcial-corrected, blushing slightly, is a writer, I'm sure. Writers write. And he writes. Following is a writer.

Mary looked a few moments with tenderness in his eyes. I was in love with her child. He gave the reason for your little was proud of your deduction. -De more, I willas Don Marcial. But no beard. Laura soon became frequent to go to the home of martial on Saturday afternoon, when he knew he was not bothered by it or removed to correct exams or work. Some of those afternoons both strolled through a park beneath his block to the library, where he taught to read poetry of Neruda and Gloria Fuertes. Other days, usually rain, they stayed home and read him stories Marcial he had written, but never came to confess that he improvised on the spot for her. Laura grew up admiring Martial, was; Foward what he did with his friends at school, to which he always replied with a laugh and a kind word. But gradually, as with the old toys, Marcial was increasingly taking a minor at the time of Laura. The afternoons in the library were replaced by afternoons in the park, playing make-up with friends, alone in her room with her dolls. And later, those childhood afternoons would be replaced by the holidays with friends, studying for exams, doing jobs, make-up with friends, taking pictures, dreaming of love impossible to hate teachers mathematical & aacute; policy, clubs ...

And Marcial became only the downstairs neighbor, with which he passed from time to time, smiling at him with shining eyes and a wistful smile . One who, according to his mother, had been his best friend as a child, of which his father had always been jealous. Who was his innate taste for books and stories, thanks to whom was dedicated to dream of another world when classes bored him, who taught him to win without a sword and dragon could be a princess without a kingdom or dresses. And more thanto time, Laura was asked if this would be true. Some snippets of images on your memory, that seemed torn from the strength of an old black and white film, I said yes, that man, ever had anything to it. And she made a wry face and attempted to squeeze the image, the still handsome young man who told stories, and compared with that of the increasingly bald man, his eyes growing ma s small and increasingly tired smile. was ending and the first year of high school when, among review and consideration was devoted tielove the rhymes, meter. He smiled, watched Wise old bookseller. "I'll take it. he paid a modest price and put it in her purse. And, on your block, before entering the third, knocked the 2 º A. Marcial opened the door. And Laura saw an older, more mature, more women, but with the same spirit as that of the girl who walked through the door of his house for the first time for an afternoon with a glass of milk and ignoring the TV watching him write the book that she now showed him, with that perpetual smile, with an invitationto signing the deal.

And Laura saw the man I remembered, sometimes in black and white, sepia, sometimes older, more tired, his beard white and ashen, eyes smaller ; you than ever, but still shining, they were still showing him blue skies that were not his, but that he knew belonged to him. The woman, who was no longer a child, was allowed to hug the old man too young when she began to mourn in front of her. And since then, Saturday afternoons were again walking in the park to the library, reading evenings at the home of writer-From which the caretaker said he had been reborn, "improvised stories and sleep recovered from a girl who wanted to be a writer without a beard.

were days when Laura regained her best friend, the man in her life, her platonic love, as decided by it. His love random, not hurt or run away, that simply was there. And it remained so, continued to be the first to read anything she wrote, the first and sometimes the last, to give their opinion on the pieces of paper gradually goingNo part of life. Martial continued to occupy part of the soul of Laura-part that was hidden so long, to be seen in the last minute, even when the university and

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hundred percent occupied his time, he finished the race and began working in a bookstore, he began to publish short articles or stories in a magazine or newspaper , when he moved to another neighborhood, another house with another person.

One afternoon, handed the man MarcialLalaith something about ... But hey:) I'll talk about that another time. A kiss mua: *

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made her feel beautiful, even with matted hair, full of chlorine in the pool, even with her chemise reaching to mid thigh cola-cao-stained, even with an almost invisible grain in the nose. ;

She looked in the mirror and knew what he had heard so many times. That a woman is beautiful when it is and feels herself.

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feel the need ... No, wait, what the hell. I feel obliged to tell you how very stupid you are. It's Alex! Please. And now you have him locked in a room that is not theirs, because they no longer feel his thing, because it was yours and no-plural and crying while behind him a adúlero, a spiteful and an innocent lament and play cards with you you've left, rifándose aces. Dear Niki, I think it was the worst decision of your life. He was wrong, yes, and remedied! -And I sincerely hope that you also do it, you exactambody to make it 130 pages. It seems incredible that now I give to abandon everything for what you have fought. You've faced monsters like Elena, such as age, time, what people will say, they've won them all ... and now retreating robes because you can not beat your ultimate enemy: you. You and your fears, your doubts, your insecurity. Versus Niki Niki, and have not been able to face Siqueros to it, stand up, say "here I am !"... As a quitter, you've done literally packed up and you've removed from your fight.

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languish in a drawer, accompanying the love that sometimes I miss, but only hurt. But summer comes again, and nobody gave me flowers. It was hot when I remember all this.

Today I have given her a flower. To not forget that I also want.

"... and Who will bring me flowers whens it's over?
and Who will bring me comfort When It's Cold

...?"

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this post to prove I'm not being lazy and I'm taking seriously what I said earlier . I searched on several web pages of stories called competitions this year, and I found a page where you come from, if not all, almost everyone, and a help section amateur writers for submitting tenders, editing, writing, etc. The page is Escritores.org , and I think anyone interested in writing may be of great use to me has been. At the moment I have already printed the basis of the contests that I can acyield. Now I have to choose which mirármelas and I introduce myself. I'm currently browsing the calls ending in June, and I've found a that caught my attention. It is on the Night of San Juan, (magical night, but my own I lived for three months ... in fact, today celebrated my three months: P), the most magical night year. Therefore, and as a fan of fantasy, I have a relatillo hand, that I can, hang here.

Second (and of course not least) my autofelicitació n three months of barbaric love:

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I disappeared for a while, the classes I have completely exhausted.
experiences I've had many this year, did you ever felt like your best friend does not care? It is terrible to realize it, but I hope that everything improves:)

I almost completely disconnected from the world of Fanfiction, between tasks, sleepless nights and classes, I can almost time for anything.

I start writing a story, Original, I hope to start this week for publication the following week, is based on several facts, but rather, the atmosphere around me at school ...

hope to start and more even finish, but I go with TIMEpo in September just because I submit a project in my school. But, I have been the inspiration, I can not leave out that history.

other hand, have you seen the photos of the epilogue? definitely terrible, but I've only seen Harry, Ginny and Albus, Draco hopefully improve a little, but not give me no hope ...

Anyway ...

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my soul close his eyes and flew alone to enjoy it even more.

Then the song ended. And I cried. No sorrow, nor sadness, even happiness. I cried because I had never thought it could be something as beautiful as that tune. Never.

There was not in the light of lightning, or in the afternoon laughing, or in the pages of books that I thought the most beautiful thing existed. Did not exist in any other world that had been me or in any oddsNo other hero or another adventure. Was not even in the rain always falls from the sky as if crying. Not in the clouds that tell stories, or poems that start smiles.

knew that something so beautiful, so beautiful, only existed in the hearts and could not get them. It's a feeling that has no name because there is a set of letters or syllables are not able to name and embrace all that entails. It's something we all feel but we do not mind and we set ourselves.

In my heart, a melody. More like a white room and wall tilesis cream colored, light-colored sunflowers, the wind playing with the curtains, a piano and the guy who played it.

He looked at me a smile. And he told me. I was a girl with the soul of the book.

That morning I woke up and saw it all differently. The world was round, spinning faster, more shining. I do not know yet why, but since then I am a little happier, even if sometimes I forget and cry. So I have only to remember that melody, that boy, and return to that room, to listenchat playing again. Because I know I will be there, locked inside of me that I may go to it whenever you need. I know there's going to hug me or tell me nice things or comfort. But I know I will play for me. And there can be nothing better to tear a smile on his lips.

I've never tried to explain to anyone what I felt then and still feel now. Because I know that nobody will understand, that is something we all have and that is just us, nobody else's. Who is locked in the darkroom of memory with a window to a door corazónythe soul.

That is our best friend, our platonic love, a father and a mother, a brother, our dog or our cat. That is all that and more.

I know that this morning I woke up knowing that I am a girl with the soul of book that dream with a song.

__________________ Hala.

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Although you can not say that had abandoned everything, if I've been a bit absent from the world of letters. A few months ago not worth me writing a fanfic or a story, in fact, now not even read as much as before. But hey, that has been changing in recent days, and I want to see if I can reenlist to the keyboard. To do this, this year I have proposed several little things that motivate me:

1 - I want to participate in literary competitions, all you can. For now I have lost the Gustavo Martín Garzo, but I submitted to organized by the Cultural Association The Brocense, with a short story that I hope will give me some joy, and I'm in the process of escriber which I will present to contest my school, plus an essay contest on exchange to France (who already won APSAD year and which has no more merit).

2 - Now that I have inspiration, I'll take it, lenes. I have much to base it, many ideas, but lack of time, there's the rub. I have no many evenings as before. But I'll try.

3 - I have become a Twitter! A base to see that everyone is Twitter and I'm missing the news of my favorite writers, heme there. News in Brief, or, simply, and as usual, gone to pot the memorable.

4 - I want to finish my damn time a novel attempt! My monster in the making. I need someone to put me in a hurry. HELP!

5 - Tears of the Moon. I want to finish but NOW. At least before this year. The problem is that I never find the time to continue. Bah ...!

6 - As the class ends, I will write as a Cossack, as promised. This summer morning, hoping to find some working on a new nanny in town to take my own, which never hurts. And in the evening I know that I will not stick to the water (though I will draw in water, long live the summer), but I will write. That sure.

And I think anything else ... Ah, yes, within a couple of days I hope to hang here a story I wrote some time ago and that gave me the idea for a new ( the already mentioned for the institute). So again take pen and notebook in the bag, but I also take my concentration in class. I'll see if I go up the middle and pulled a damn outstanding THAT!

A kiss to all

MUA.

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Hello! thousand years ago did not publish anything here, but today's session evrdad need urgent relief ... I'm so tired of my current work that could explode into pieces just thinking about coming here every morning I have known worse torture than to be where no one wants to be. If you already why not look at other options and e is the point ... I do not even have time to search for other options I have time to sleep Malita and share with my boyfriend ... my friends complain about the cyber space as I have only left my pc without passing away hahahahahaha.

really need to get out of here but I do not even like, find another job that will take your time and noe stan things to go because as I'm not the hiDonald Trump because ja .... in order to see that new nuclear bomb dropped by my office today I am no longer surprised by anything .....

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Holaas! as I've been kinda busy ... Since I just started classes, and even though we have just started, and we are beginning to swallow tasks

xD I've been happy these days, relatively ... On Monday compliance years, and was a very good day for me.

I can not write more, I'm very tired! and I feel my eyes close ...

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my reach, but I must improve.

3) not to reveal much ...
(unless a ff: D)


4) Trying to take care a little more ... I am a total neglected in every way ... x3

5) Begin to write an idea for a Drarry. (I'll see if I advance ...)

6) Improve the relationship with my family, not that I'm complaining, but given the problems that have arisen these months we have had many differences. this past year was tough, many things happened ... But I'm happy so ... though I must improve and meet my goals! ^ ^