Ejercicio de speed writing

Un ejercicio de dejar fluir las palabras, consiste en sacar una frase al azar para empezar un párrafo y escribir durante cinco minutos sin parar y sin pensarlo. Normalmente tres párrafos llenarán la hoja, y pueden o no tener relación entre ellos. Más bien es eso lo que descubres. No soy muy partidaria de los "ejercicios" para escribir, pero tienen sentido y es divertido. Queda algo que mínimo es interesante, aunque sea para quien lo escribió. Para mayor disfrute, escríbase en máquina para escribir, a la antigüita.

It is not the rose of naked petals, it is the stem and thorns and rapid sliding water the petals never matter for they fall and quiver at the slightest touch it is the part of the rose that is not naked I kept, but you did not give me that. I always remembered your gaze and your sly sly smile giving me something that was about to die but I didn’t buy it. I broke it in little pieces and felt the juice and felt them like my fingers only so much more alive, how sad what a terrible gift flowers. I’m glad you went away. I’m glad we died that night and I still have the broken stem to remember it

At six o’clock we waited for the coffee. We didn’t know anymore why we waited or what we waited for, if it was really the strong morning coffee that never woke us anymore or just an excuse to sit staring and never ask the impossible questions, the tricks the light played on the music and the wounds that came from the back room and all the dust in our smiles we avoided. It wasn’t the coffee but that was all we had, at six when the sun was rising and in the evening when all was done, we stared into our cups at the blackness and it was all we ever imagined it would be. How we loved to hear ourselves talk. Thoughtless, so different than hearing yourself think, only sometimes the coffee spilled and we would both get angry, more at ourselves than at each other, and we’d hurry to clean it up.

Twelve years back when I had to leave and you knew it but you didn’t know yet the shadow that would stay at your feet I knew you would sit every morning and evening and painfully drink a slightly more bitter coffee bout you would never admit it to me or yourself or anyone, maybe the bees but the flowers also never. I never felt like I left, to me it was that the coffee table left, and not even the bees because they still followed me around through other orchards and believe it or not I didn’t miss you but I still came back. You are a setting I need to check on, an echo I must confirm still calls back from the depth of the cave of my memory. Such sad little shoes and a paper thin smile that screams dryness to the daylight, you make me laugh and always did except when I was trapped or when you gave me the rose because then you made me cry.