Commissioned lyrics for a ghostwriter | PhotoFeed Contest Portrait Photography Round 132 [EN/ES]

History walks at two years old. Body and essence of itself in the conquest of freshness, in the conquest of enjoyment: moisture that beats on the back of my bare feet. Time stops, and only the memory of the exact moment remains. Time stops, and only the perfect sphere remains beneath the elastic of my underwear.

The air doesn't taste of milk; it has the taste of loneliness with its gaze. Father ignores me looking at him, though I can't tell him I understand, because a two-year-old doesn't understand, say the adults who don't understand children, or looks that don't taste of milk.

As a child, I could have lived somewhere else. I could have been the daughter of a thief with a thief's morals who steals, but returns the children. As a child, I could have hugged the nanny and told her not to cry. I could have said, "I love you."

Camina la historia con dos años. Cuerpo y esencia de sí a la conquista de lo fresco, a la conquista del disfrute: humedad que late sobre la espalda con los pies descalzos. El tiempo se detiene y solo queda la memoria del momento justo. El tiempo se detiene, y solo queda la esfera perfecta bajo la goma de mi bombacha.

El aire no sabe a leche, tiene el sabor de la soledad con la mirada. Padre ignora que le miro, aunque no puedo decirle le entiendo, porque una niña de dos años no entiende, dicen los adultos que no saben de niños, ni de miradas que no saben a leche.

De niña pude vivir en otro sitio. Pude ser la hija de una ladrona con moral de ladrona que roba, pero devuelve a los niños. De niña, pude abrazar la niñera y decirle que no llore. Pude decirle: te quiero.