Everyone has his own, even Matías has his boat. To cross the inlet, to arrive to the sea. Some of them live in the sand losing water through their holes; others are swaying in the breeze.

When the air is calm they seem to be floating in the middle of nowhere, where they appear upside down. And, when they know you are looking at them, they become big in the game of flirting the water and they play.



A colorful canvas, a palette with earthy tones. Sienna, ochre and terracotta; venetian blinds in different shades of green, peeling walls, rust and stone. This is Verona, a city with patina, with an old flavor. Even the Adige River is dyed with pebbles and clay.

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It’s warm and bustling, it smells like risotto, Amarone and pecorino.
Romantic and tragic for its Romeo and Juliet, its Arena amphitheater evokes epic literature. Superb and solid, it dresses you in its sword and shield as soon as you sit down.

Eternal as the stones that make it up, I was seduced by its Ponte di Castelvecchio, the old one with its reddish battlements; the stories recorder on its walls and others are in closed inside them. Its Ponte Pietra, and its Duomo dulling in its elevation, whose lighthouse illuminates the city. The Piazza delle Erbe -which has beautiful even in its name-, a place full of history and life, which you have to keep in your mind.

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I liked your legends, much more those hanging of possible whale bones than those touching bronze breasts, looking for eternal love. I left without touching them and I arrived there without a partner, but even though I’m left with no one to love me, it’s enough for me to have fallen in love with you. So I assure you I will return.

You taste like pen and verse,
you dress me in silk,
you nourish me with velvet.

With a long braid you draw my back
and, in a glass of wine, you bring me desire.
With my eyes on your beauty,
between your stones,
Im trapped.


To be loved

Two imperfect beings, that could be you and me, carrying backpacks that we would like to forget in any park, one of those days. But, for which we would return without doubts not being able to be unfaithful to ourselves.

Because, how can you leave behind everything you’ve lived?

And, at this point in which I cannot be without myself, my imperfection meets with yours and they tremble each in others hands, like the branches of the trees dancing in a storm. You remember the madness that you had missed, but also long for it.
And another wound is feared, a possible failure. Your dread the emotional pain but you still feel the desire to love and be loved. A desire that slips between the tips of my fingers while I am attracting it with my memory.

And while I caress myself, the necessity to feel alive again takes hold of me. I am tempted to know what could happen between two imperfect beings. Beautifully imperfect, clumsy and insecure. A middle age woman and man, two simple people in this world.


Lago di Garda

Y llegué a Malcesine, pueblo pesquero, colorido y bullicioso en el Lago di Garda, y me quise quedar para siempre en este viejo pantalán, al ritmo del agua golpeteando las maderas que lo sustentaban, con la paz escrita en el rostro.

Rodeada de intensos tonos azules moldeados por la luz del día y con una bruma al caer la tarde que te va desmarcando las siluetas de las montañas que lo rodean, como si se fueran perdiendo en el horizonte, de una en una ante ti, convirtiendo en mágico el  paisaje.

A la mañana siguiente me fui hasta Riva del Garda, otro pueblo precioso en el norte del lago. Allí me hice un recorrido a pie por la carretera antigua, paralela al lago por las montañas, que va hacia Pregasina, un pequeño lugar al que te alegras de llegar por ser la meta de un camino y, también, por la necesidad de recargar energía antes de la necesaria vuelta. Repetiría de nuevo por la inmensidad de su paisaje. Simplemente, maravilloso.

Otro sitio para quedarse ¿Me dará la vida para tanto?