Faro

Sabía que era solitario,
sabía que implicaba la carencia de sueño,
la vigilia constate,
el pasar horas sumergido en el murmullo.
Pero no un murmullo cualquiera,
el de las olas,
el de la vida bajo aquel centro azulado,
el de fantasmas de piratas,
de monedas titilantes bajo el mar.

Le consolaban las noches oscuras,
paciente esperaba al anochecer para ser la luz del mundo.
Y si no del mundo entero, al menos del suyo.

Confession

“We were happily married.
I have to admit that my genius was particular
 that sometimes I lost my mind
and become a little violent to my wife and child.
I lost everything.
Our child, Mathew, lived it all.
And probably knew all the sides of the history,
but probably he forget the parts that were no favorable to her.

He had a better job, and her same interests, an exotic ascendance, 
and spoke French, in fact, he was French.

I did never think that she would meet another man,
so when others told me about what was said , I did not believe.
However it went through my mind, and tortured me for days, until I asked her.
I was not sober,  and did not believe her answer.
She said she would never do that.
She lied.

I lost myself that night and probably more than before.
She decided to defeat herself, and I was not able to understand what she was doing.
Well, I understood, but late.
After a few, I was bleeding out on the floor, losing everything. 

She took Mathew from his cradle, and left our house.
The house my family had had for years before I was born,
the house she painted in white.

People said that they moved from town,
that my dear Mathew called him “Dad”
that no one entered in my house since the day I died on the kitchen.
They were frightened.
What people never said was if she ever had pangs of conscience,
if she told what she had made to me to anyone, if she died.
She always prayed so I would go to Hell. I guess we will meet there”