Hearts Fall Apart

(c) by Héctor Humberto Amaya



Marqués de Calatrava:


The wind will always be the wind
Budapest will always be in Hungary
but your love will not be returned
it never has been
it never is
it never will be
it hurts
does it not?
you are used to it
deep within you are tough
you are not
it is an angellic illusion
like the beautifully dazzling Floriselda
who takes your breath away every time
how it hurts to be disillusioned!
how it hurts to fall from heaven!
you will do it again
you always do
have you not learned?
you are not wanted
they make fun of you
you will never be in Floriselda's mind
in the way that you want to be
she is not going to love you
Floriselda has been trained to not love you
your endeavors to woo her are useless
Bernardo del Carpio is the one she wants
that should not surprise you
it is always Bernardo del Carpio
or someone like Bernardo del Carpio
Bernardo del Carpio repeats himself a thousand times
it happens every time
have you not learned?
you are a worthless piece of nothing
Bernardo del Carpio is nothing too
but del Carpio is made of the nothing that they like
when your heart falls apart
as it inevitably will 
from time to time if you believe in love
there will be someone to help you pick-up the pieces
and who will help you glue it back together
it is our custom to love those who do not love us
it is their nature
to love those whom they should not love
in the end you will be loved
by the one you never thought of loving
but you will not love her

Conde de Bellaluna

Tomorrow

(c) by Hector Humberto Amaya


This world will change. Thunderstorms abound in this world. He will fall in love with snow. She will reject him because he and her are different. " Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?'' she will ask him. This will hurt him and he will not be the same anymore. It will not be the first time. It is his fate. ''We are different in every way,'' she will add. He will not understand. He never does. ''Why didn't you fall in love with the rain instead?'' she will ask him. "I don't like the rain,'' he will say. "Why not?'' she will ask. ''It isn't you,'' he will say. ''But the rain is so beautiful, much more beautiful than I am,'' she will say. "Impossible. Neither the lightning nor the thunderstorm can be more beautiful than you are,'' he will say. ''Your problem is that you fall in love with what isn't like you,'' she will observe wisely. "But is that wrong?'' he will ask. ''You know the answer to that question,'' she will say. ''But I don't know the answer to that question,'' he will say. "I will bring you a mirror the next time I see you,'' she will say. ''Where have you been all these years?'' he will ask. "Preparing to see you again,'' she will say. "But what's the point of seeing me again if you were only going to wound me?'' he will ask. "I came back to tell you the truth about who I am,'' she will say. "What do you mean?'' he will ask. "I am who I am meant to be,'' she says. ''And what are you meant to be?'' he will ask. ''The muse that cannot be,'' she will say. ''The goddess that should have been but will not be,'' he will conclude as he lets a hot tear drop. There will be an ocean of tears on the ground. Cold miserable tears. Ice will rain from the sky. This ice, sharp as a knife, and as delicious as iguana eggs, will cut hearts. It always does. All the ice looks like a rice field.

He will be happy to have seen snow. He will walk in the snow. This snow will have done him a favor. Snow is everywhere in his mind. He doesn't think that he and snow are that different. But in this world they are. In this world things have to match. The world will change. It always does. His fate will return because he likes snow. Snow is still there seeing him walkaway taciturnly and deep in thought. Snow is sorry, but she had to be honest with him. The snow and the night can only be friends. There is not another possibility. Not in this world at least. She wishes things in this world were different. He thinks maybe the snow will come back. He thinks. He thinks. He thinks. He thinks. He thinks. She weeps.
She is only a messenger. She has done her job.This is how it was supposed to be. This is how it will always be. She did what was expected of her. Snow will reject him every time. 

She is the muse that cannot be and the goddess that should have been but will not be.

The sky begins to weep, too. It is raining. Silver. Hard. Coldly. A new beginning. The same end. What now? Must he go on? Must he wait to see Snow again? Would someone set the sky on fire again and run away? Fiery purification.

He gets lost in the solitude of the rain. The rain is telling him something. He cannot hear her. But even if he did hear the rain, he would not understand her. But the rain understands him. She always will. If only rain was like snow. If only Snow had been like him. If he only listened. If only this was another world. If he could only understand the rain. If the rain could only understand him. If he had only been like snow.

Today

(c) by Hector Humberto Amaya 


Quack. Quack. Quack. Quack. Quack. He discovered the secret to happiness. It isn't a mystery like everybody says. The secret has been right in front of his eyes all these years. He didn't see it. Maybe he refused to see it. It's never been a secret. It's wide. Open. Visible.

He took the decision to go. He went. He found it. He saw it. Paradise. He walked around it. It 's shaped like the the letter F. An aquatic labyrinth. Deep-ocean blue in the afternoon. Black in the evening. He didn't want to leave.

A tall bird that looks like a flamboyant swan. What is it? A giant and haggard duck that looks like a turkey. One of many non-traditional ducks. Novelty or conspiracy? Turtles that are intimated by humans. Black ducks with green necks. Alluring. The tantalizing ducks are ravenous. A happy man who smiles too much and is eating chocolate. Children doing what children do best. The ducks, like the children, do what they do best. Quack. Quack. Quack. Quack. Quack. What an enthralling experience.

In his solitude, the tall bird flies into a country called Nostalgia. He wishes he had a dove to wipe the tears off of his long neck. The dirty swamp becomes an abyss.

A corpulent woman fishing. He wishes he had his camera. A pregnant woman who will be giving birth to a little duck in a matter of days, if not hours. Two women feeding the ducks. Some people playing golf. They go away. Bored. Perchance. The man eating chocolate and smiling too much said that to find peace and joy, one must come here. The man eating chocolate and smiling too much said he comes here every day. He notices that ducks only interact with people who bring them food. He observes that they run away from those who don't bring them food. The man eating chocolate and who smiles too much agrees. He wonders where these ducks come from. Nobody knows. The happy man who smiles too much and is eating chocolate theorizes that some people add to the population while others take away from the population. He wonders what the ducks are saying when they quak quack quack quack quack quack quack. The man eating chocolate and no longer smiling says that they are letting us know that they are hungry. Like babies when they cry.

A fiery sun invades the sky. It looks like somebody threw matches into the sky. He wonders how these ducks survive winter and summer. Is the water cold or hot? It looks cold. He won't find out. He wants to come here every day. Worship. Feed the ducks. Be happy. Walk. Think. Find peace. He wonders what agony the man eating chocolate is soothing by coming here every day. What passions is he avoiding? What fires is he extinguishing? The sky is burning of joy. Or is it melancholy? He'll never know. He wonders if this paradise is the hand of man. 

The sky stops burning. The man eating chocolate and no longer smiling begins to walk away like a distant dream. The tall bird finally flies in search of the dove that will bring him happiness. In a matter of seconds, he is gone from this world. This paradise is not for him. What's the meaning of his suffering? He'll find his dove. One day. Like the sky, he'll burn of love in a symphony of birds. 

He hears something fall into the dirty snake-owned water. It sounds as if an elephant fell into the water. Could it be the corpulent woman fishing? A new duck? Or was it a whale? Or an alligator? Or was it remorse? The pain of solitude, perchance? No. It was the man eating chocolate. He had amputated his suffering. Drowned his tears in this large body of water. He had ceased to exist. The snakes devoured him. The man eating chocolate is now one of the many ducks in the water. The man eating chocolate is as free as they are. Happy. Fulfilled. A joyful new creation. It was meant to be. The man eating chocolate quacks. So this is what peace looks, smells, and feels like. Quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack quack.

He, the observer, ran through the infinite labyrinth of men's dreams and desires to find help for the man who was no longer a man but a bone. But instead, exactly one hundred and ninety-three years and five hundred and twelve hours later, he found snow.

Yesterday

(c) by Hector Humberto Amaya


There was an avalanche of snow on the ground. Dry snow. Brown snow. Desolate pieces of flying paper. Where did this snow come from? What happened the day before when the world was asleep? A storm of uncertainty. 

He laboriously walked through it. A pilgrimage through dung. She did not see his beauty. He saw her eyes. Unforgettable. Why did the snow come between them? 

The night had betrayed them. There had not been a night. The world has not slept.

She thinks of the brown snow where people drown as they walk through it.

He can only think of those unforgettable eyes. Eyes which sleep in his memory.

They speak:

--Your eyes are lovely like the snow.
--I suppose that's a compliment.
-- You suppose right.
--It is very cold tonight.
--It is.
-- Are you from around here, Lady With the Lovely Eyes?
--Indeed.
--What is your name?
--Snow.
-- That explains your interest in the snow.
--Maybe...What is YOUR name?
--Paper Night...There's something I would like to know.
--What is that?
--Your lovely eyes...where do they come from?
--I stole them from the moon.
--Why did you do that?
--To give them to you.

At that moment, he immediately understood why he was there. The road, and his life, all of a sudden became clear. Snow disappeared.