#sin respuesta

[sadness-girlfriend]

¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué?

[ritmos-eternos]

Tú no sabes lo que pasaba por mi mente, ni yo por la tuya, pero intenté decirlo en esas llamadas que nunca respondías.

Papittafritta

[nabuplata]

—Hoy ha iniciado la batalla más difícil de mi vida, contra mi ser, mi trabajo, mi amor y la sociedad que me consume, no sé de triunfos solo fracaso, no se rinde.

Nabuplata

[alguien-que-novas-a-entender]

¿Y que hago con el mundo si no se acaba cuando tú no estés?

[nekirorgen]

Has estado mucho tiempo afuera... Te estás aniquilando... ¿Cuándo volverás a ti?

—Nékir.

[sparrowsworkshop]

“Sin Respuesta” by OneWingedSparrow; Chapter 1: Invitation

Last Chapter >>> Fic Summary: Puss in Boots is getting married! Of course, his mamá must come to the wedding! But what happens when Imelda arrives at the church of Santa Coloma, only to find that her son hasn't? "Sin Respuesta" = "No Response" Main Tags:  Puss in Boots & Imelda, Canon Compliant, Post-PiB Pre-TLW, Implied Puss / Kitty, Cold Feet, Light Angst, Mother-Son Relationship, Santa Coloma

Read on AO3

Reblogs are appreciated! ~ When the letter arrived, Imelda had been too busy to read. Bustling around the orphanage dining hall, two trays on each arm, she stepped lightly while her many energetic children scurried to find places at the long tables. Imelda exclaimed a hurried thank you at the girl who alerted her to the mail, and shouted instructions to place it on her desk. Nine-year-old Sophia nodded and obeyed, and the letter had landed there in a pile of others, unseen. Longtime matron of the San Ricardo orphanage, Imelda was well-versed in moderating shenanigans and tomfoolery, but that day was especially chaotic. Wiping boo-boos, breaking up fistfights, and stopping one too many children from splashing homemade gazpacho over their heads for kicks and giggles was a heavy workload. Even with the assistance of her helpers, Imelda was spent by sunset. When she retired to her bedroom that night, frazzled, the last thing she wanted was more work. She would have ignored the stack of mail on the desk, had not the topmost item—a small brown envelope—caught her eye. The envelope itself was fairly unassuming; what stood out was her name. Mamá, read the envelope. Nondescript handwriting she could not place. No return address—not even a sender's name. Wearily, she surrendered and took a seat at the desk. Though her forehead ached from stress, Imelda found she could still smile, relieving some of the day’s tension. “Oh, my child, are you so ashamed to tell me who you are?” she scolded as she ripped the envelope open. “Why this mystery? I will not say I have forgotten you, but it would be easier on my old memory if you gave me a little hint.” A tiny piece of yellow fluff fluttered out when Imelda removed the letter. Why, this was no stationery, this was— A wanted poster. Her heart lurched.

She snatched up her reading glasses and shoved them onto her nose, other hand whipping the folded paper open. Ay, this was no outlaw she recognized. Not the one she was hoping to see. But they were a cat, so maybe...maybe…. “WANTED,” Imelda read out loud. “Kitty Softpaws.” Ghostly lines of ink faintly bled through Kitty’s profile. Imelda turned the poster over. There was handwriting she recognized. Every I bold and dramatic, every P angular and fierce. Her fingers tightened around the page, as if she could hold onto him if she squeezed it tight enough.  Dearest Mamá,  With great jubilation do I write to you! In my wanderings and my exploits—of which there are too many for me to possibly count—I have met several women. Many have caught my fancy, but none have claimed my heart. That is, until now! Yes! Mamá, the great Puss in Boots has had his heart stolen by a master thief, and there is nothing I can do to take it back!  Her name is Kitty Softpaws— Imelda smiled, noting how the handwriting shifted to slower strokes. The script was somewhat broken, as if he had gotten distracted and had to return to his thoughts. —as you will have seen from the picture I included. She is something. A true legend herself. She was in San Ricardo during the goose incident—but I do not expect you to remember her. Even so, maybe you had seen her? Like yours truly, she is not one easily forgotten. Oh, she could practically see the lovestruck grin on her boy’s face as he penned those words.  We are to be married in the church of Santa Coloma on the seventh of May. So far away…! I would gladly have eloped in the night, but Kitty is adamant we deserve a ceremony, so I have agreed. Please, Mamá, if you are able...come and see the wedding of Puss in Boots! The ink of his closing was smudged in erratic, jagged patches.  I do not wish for you to face more grief by associating with me. Please do not reply to this letter. I cannot imagine how you would, as Puss in Boots has no return address, but I wish to warn you anyway. Bounty hunters are always after me, los idiotas. No one can capture Puss in Boots! But...the farther they are from you, the fewer of them know your connection to me, the better this gato can sleep. I trust you will keep this letter secret from the comandante.  Love you, Mamá. See you soon.  Puss in Boots Scribbled onto the page, an afterthought underneath his massive, swooping signature, was a final line in smaller, shakier script. I will make sure the boots are polished as bright as the love in your eyes when you gave them to me. Imelda pressed a hand over her mouth as her glasses began to fog. The noises that escaped her throat, strange blends of squeals and sobs, must have seemed alarming to childish ears; for, not too long after the joy overflowed, a timid knock on the open door interrupted Imelda’s celebration. “Mamá?” Sophia’s eyes were wide with worry as she pressed against the doorframe. “Are you sick?” Through her tears, Imelda laughed. “No, no, my dear. I am happy. Your brother Puss is getting married!” “My brother who?” Ah, Imelda had forgotten how long it had been since her boy had run away from San Ricardo. Many little ones had come through her doors since, unaware that their big brother gato was an outlaw wandering Spain. Though her current kids still shared stories of the hero that saved San Ricardo from the giant goose, Puss in Boots would not be remembered as their brother. The majority of the “kids” that had known him were grown up and gone, just like Puss. She folded the letter—Kitty’s picture inward—and tucked it back into the envelope. “You do not remember him,” Imelda said, “but that is all right. You have many brothers and sisters, more than you know. What day is it, Sophia?” “Miércoles,” Sophia replied. “Gazpacho Day.” Imelda laughed again. “Of course. How could I forget the gazpacho? Gracias. Run along, now, Sophia. It’s late.”

“Yes, Mamá.”

When her daughter had left, Imelda counted on her fingers.

“Gazpacho Day...thrice this month...so today is…the nineteenth.” No longer tired, Imelda’s methodical mind began to plan. Jorge could take charge of the orphanage while she was gone. She would need to pack her bags. Perhaps she could pay Gabriela for a cart ride to the next town over, at least. It was a long way to Santa Coloma. Santa Coloma, where her boy was soon to be married.

Oh, how she longed to send a reply. There was so much she could say. So many questions she could ask, in a letter that could never be written. Are you eating well, my son? Where are you writing this? Not from prison, I hope. Oh, that is silly, if you are in prison you cannot very well get out and be wed, can you? Then again...I know how clever you are. I will trust you are fine, wherever you may be.  How did you meet this Kitty Softpaws? She is an outlaw too, yes? I hope that, despite her profession, she is not leading you astray. No matter your title, you must keep your honor, Puss in Boots. Thank you for writing to me, in spite of the danger. Be safe, Puss, wherever you go. To Santa Coloma, from Santa Coloma.  You must know that in my heart, I am so proud and happy for you. I cannot wait to see you, and Kitty, of course. It has been so long since I have seen you. Too long. I wish I could bring your favorite gazpacho for you, but I do not think it would make the trip. You will have to content yourself with a hug from your mother. What a wonderful day it will be! Ah, but I wish it was already here. ~ Last Chapter >>>

[april-girly]

⌛️

[tlalysmar]

Lo más frustrante es saber que eres suficiente y no poder ser el algo que falta...

[difao]

Me duele el corazón saber que perdí ala mujer que amo por malas decisiones por drogas por problemas que atormentaban mi cabeza por asumir y suponer cosas mi corazón y mi cabeza estuvieron separados por sustancias y eso me dio distancia entre los dos. Siento morir el pecho se aprieta el estómago vacío y la mente no me funciona. Solo buenos recuerdo de esa persona quedaron. No quiero vivir más sin ti 😓

[adictoanonimo]

Logros que hubieran sido grandes de haber estado a tu lado… solo me nombraron subdirector y la victoria me supo a derrota, solo es otra isla sin playa.

[muchacha-transeunte]

Si tan solo lográramos hablar claro sobre qué somos… o mejor, qué hemos sido… qué no hemos podido ser y por qué. ¿Por qué se nos da tan fácil las palabras cuando se trata de poesía, pero no para la conversación?

¿Acaso haz pensado tú en esta conversación o su presencia, como un increíble elefante rosa cada vez que texteamos? ¿O no te haz dado cuenta? 

Si no te texteo, ¿recibiré algún mensaje de tu parte? ¿Acaso contestas mis mensajes por obligación o por interés real? ¿De verdad quieres saber de mí, de mi logros, de las cosas que me gustan, de las que no, cómo estoy? 

Te pido que me saques de este sufrimiento y me digas de una vez por todas si me piensas al tomar tu café en la mañana; al ver una flor en tu paseo; al ver el hermoso arcoíris en el cielo… ¿Piensas en mí? ¿Pensabas en mí?

Si te lo preguntas: tu plagas mis pensamientos; por más que intente controlar mi corazón, él se aferra a una distante posibilidad. Sácame de esta miseria y dime con qué ojos me ves. 

Sé que la distancia nos separa. Es ingenuo de mi parte querer formar algo contigo, pero me gustaría saber, necesito saber si la posibilidad de un "nosotros" también ha cruzado tu mente. 

[shortc-4-ke]

Cuanta razón tenía...

[nabuplata]

Existen personas que viven intensamente, que luchan por sus hijos, por preservar su realidad, estudian, trabajan, son buenos padres, buenas madres, todo al mismo tiempo, aún no consigo dimensionar esa fuerza de vida, ese impulso divino que los lleva a ser disciplinados para finalmente disfrutar la miel de la victoria.

Los veo, ejemplos de grandeza, yo no me veo así, no soy ejemplo de grandeza, no vivo en la miseria pero mi alma agoniza y nadie lo nota, desesperado me gustaría encontrar un sentido, un propósito, sonreír como ellos sonríen, luchar como ellos luchan, soñar como ellos sueñan.

En silencio lamento mi mediocridad, en soledad agonizo, silencio, no me importa, no hay salida, solo entradas, un laberinto que no tiene fin, el eco deprime y los gritos esperan respuesta, no se escuchará.

Nabuplata

[k-a-r-e]

Siempre me preguntó si realmente hubiera funcionado está última vez, si tan solo hubieras querido, si tan solo no hubiéramos discutido, si tan solo me hubieras elegido, si tan solo, si tan solo, algo que quizá solo anheló, algo que quizá jamás iba a existir.

[unaanonima-sinrecuerdos]

¿Cómo puedes decir que amas a alguien, sin percatarte qué esta muriendo?

[noches-triste]

Y cuando al fin me atreví a decir que necesito un abrazo que estoy triste solo recibí una respuesta vaga y sin sentido que me dejo mucho peor que antes.