ARON

Has it ever happened to you that you get an idea in your head and if you try to remove it, it is still there?, as on purpose, as saying, even closing your eyes you'll not forget it? it shouts you in the ear in the quietest hour of the night? That tells you, do not push yourself,  have i come to stay here? ... That damned problem, is now my damn problem, but the worst it is not an idea, it is a boy, and not anyone, a boy  with huge biceps,  rugby player's back and Leonardo Dicaprio's face when filming Titanic; and that makes me feel comfortable with my problem, i'm fucked up!

As you know if i save words, probably i will choke on them, and i'm very young and beautiful to kill myself with things unsaid, it is why i have come to tell  about Aron.

At first sight, this big guy Aryan race could easily be a soldier of Hitler, that will make you want to be Jewish  so that he could go looking for you, but that breast stainless steel fulfills its purpose, it's just the armor of a noble and tender heart that is activated if you press the button indicated.

Aron speaks little, but practice Braile putting his hands on your back, or lacing his fingers with yours, is his way of saying, I want you to me, but if  he hikes you in his arms, run, flees to hurry! is his way to mark territory and tell you, you're mine. He also uses sign language, lifts the eyebrow located next to his scar on his forehead, he puts little eyes and looks to your lips with an attitude of big bad wolf in the eyes of Prince Charming, now  saying, i want to eat your mouth.



Then he kisses you, and the world stops at the synchronicity of his mouth and yours, Aphrodite feel jealous and even you can remember those days in the Olympus, time when both were gods and played to love, because it is the only way to explain how  the kiss of two strange being is such perfect harmony.

Aron is a gentleman who will make a lady ceases, an intelligent woman becomes stupid, that a feminist confess weak. His smile is always dressed for a party, and is ready to protect you with his soul.

I do not know him from this life, but perhaps from another and i can say certainly, is just a big boy who deserves care, he must enjoy reading this words, his birth is on July 16th and when you meet him, you will not want meet anyone else.

I know my readers want to read to the strong girl as always, but until i have the right to break me. kisses Santa Irreverente.

EL TRISTE AFÁN DE SER PERFECTOS

¿Se han puesto a pensar en lo terriblemente perfectos que nos vemos a través de la redes sociales?

Solo comemos en restaurantes de moda, tenemos una muda de ropa diferente para cada foto, nuestras relaciones de parejas son perfectas, únicas e irreemplazables, Donald Trump envidiaría la opulencia de nuestras cenas navideñas, nuestro club de súper amigos podría llenar un estadio y las Kardashians nunca han subido en tantos Yates y aviones como nosotros.

Y que decir de la madres del Facebook, esas adoran a sus hijos en fotos mientras los ignoran en la vida real, precisamente por estar actualizando su foto de perfil, si stalkeamos a cualquier contacto al azar, corremos el riesgo de querer secuestrarlo, porque a todas luces bien podría ser el hijo de un Nule, si no conociera de frente a mis compañeras de Universidad, ya las hubiera inscrito para ángeles de Victoria Secret por sus fotos de Instagram y ni que decir de sus citas intelectuales, uno a veces se llega a creer que hasta se leyeron el libro.

¿Qué nos pasó? si antes podíamos ir a comer chichurria sin amonestaciones sociales, si bien eramos maluquitos y sin los reflectores de una estrella de Disney en ascenso, al menos eramos reales, llenábamos sin temor los álbumes familiares de foto feas, borrosas, desenfocadas, no había que escoger entre veinte fotos, la que con el filtro indicado ayudara a obtener el mayor números de likes entre un público que a la final le importamos un ratico, lo mejor era comprar ropa sin tomarle foto a la bolsa del almacén y viajar en transporte La Costeña sin que una azafata nos regañara por tomar fotos con celular durante el vuelo.

Antes la teníamos más fácil, no había afán por ser tristemente exitosos, tristemente perfectos