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

Papittafritta

—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

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

—Nékir.

“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 >>>

One day you will get tired and nothing will matter, and there will be no turning back

Cuanta razón tenía...

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.

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.

Para los que se van y ya no vinieron. Para los que se fueron y siempre estarán. Para los que muertos ya están. Para los que lloran y cantan sin hablar. Para los que murmuran poesia. Para los que no sienten ni escuchan. Para ti que no tienes forma.

- @zblue-nightingale

Cuanto tiempo, cuanto tiempo sin parar ha sido

Sin certeza si mis pies llegarán

Extraño cada uno de mis trozos repartidos

Cambiar es de todos

Sin embargo los que apuran no es igual

Aunque duele, encontrarás

Que lo malo en otro nunca va a terminar

Mira cómo se ve

Mira cómo se va

Huyendo de lo que no fue

Y su manera de ser, y su manera de ser no es santa

No se preocupa si tiene que perder el tiempo

Ella ve las cosas cuando no se dicen

Que después todos verán

Y sus dientes rechinarán

Ella solo señaliza y no persiste

Bien, suele llorar

¿Quién la va a descifrar?

Ella ve las cosas cuando no se dicen

Que después todos sabrán

Y las calles ya quemarán

Bien, suele llorar

¿Quién la va a descifrar?

Bien, suele llorar

¿Quién la va a descifrar?

Da-ra-da-ra, da-ra

Da-ra-da-ra, da-ra

Son estas palabras, me dejan llevar

Se oyen como se van

Ooh, antes del final

Quiero descansar

Si me siento aliviada es obvio que no es contigo

Ooh, de tanto caminar

La gente hablará

¿Qué me importa? Si cada palabra ya la he oído

Si me siento aliviada no es contigo

Si me siento aliviada no es contigo

Si me siento aliviada no es contigo

Si me siento aliviada no es contigo

Me vejo diante do pó, me arrastando aos seus pés sou apenas como uma sombra pra vc não tenho servência em nada.

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

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

¿Realmente me amas?

¿realmente me queres allá contigo?

¿soy parte de tu vida?

¿o deje de serlo el día que te fuiste?

“Sin Respuesta” by OneWingedSparrow; Chapter 2: Devastation

<<< First 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 Chapter 2 Summary: At long last, the day of the wedding in Santa Coloma has arrived. Imelda is ready. But...is Puss in Boots? Read on AO3 Reblogs are appreciated! ~ When Imelda arrived, the church had been empty. “Better to be early than late” was one of her lifetime mottos. Imelda was a patient woman. Perhaps a bit overexcited, but yes, she was quite patient. Imelda found her way to the church of Santa Coloma on the sixth of May, not the seventh. She persuaded the staff to permit her to spend the night in the building, though her thrill over the morrow’s event robbed her of much sleep. In the end, she awakened at dawn; made herself ready with haste; and whiled away the rest of the morning by decorating. Orange blossoms and red ribbons now brightened the simple wooden pews—nothing too extravagant, but special nonetheless. During her preparations, she hoped to see her boy arrive too. Puss, however, did not show. While he did have a habit for dallying to make a dramatic entrance, she imagined he would have come early as well, to welcome the guests.

Now, Imelda glanced around the church at her companions. A small crowd. She recognized no one, not that she expected to. What did surprise her was that fewer people sat on the bride’s side than the groom’s. Kitty’s guests appeared to be mostly feline; meanwhile, Puss’s were a mixed bunch of creatures. Human, feline...was that a gingerbread man? There was even a family of ogres—and most shocking of all, a great, purplish dragon that couldn’t even fit inside the building, and instead resorted to peeking a giant eye through one of the church windows. My, but her boy had clearly traveled far and wide, acquainting himself with all sorts of characters! After the ceremony, she would enjoy connecting with his friends and hearing their stories. Surely, Puss would be kind enough to introduce her. Imelda glanced at the bouquet on her lap. The freshest, reddest, proudest roses she could find, ready to soar towards the happy couple as they passed her by. Then her eye fell on her skirt pocket, which was bulging slightly. She smiled to herself. Call her sentimental, but she had to carry the letter with her. And yes, although her son had urged her not to reply, she’d written a response the night before, wishing him and his wife well on all their new adventures. It was tucked away in the same pocket, awaiting delivery along with the giant hug she would give when she saw him. The church bell rang the hour. Imelda smoothed the frizz in her bun and sat up straighter. Her heart felt like it was dancing! The wedding was about to begin! Neither groom nor bride could yet be seen. They must be in the back, getting ready. At the altar, the priest patiently stood, hands folded over his robes. The old piano in the corner began to sing, prompting the guests to quiet their chatter. Puss would soon stride down the wide, empty aisle, black boots aglow with the shine he had promised. Imelda was ready. But Puss in Boots did not come. Ten minutes passed, by the piano’s mark. The pianist dutifully kept playing, even though neither bride nor groom was in sight. Cats yawned and lounged on the hardback pews, soon falling asleep. Humans and others shifted in their seats, gossiping in hushed whispers to not overpower the music. The air grew stuffy with stagnant anticipation. Some of the guests shook their heads and walked out, stirring up dust in the aisle. Kitty’s side of the church emptied first, though Puss’s side mostly remained intact. Imelda caught herself humming along with the droning piano. She frowned. How long was this song? Or, was the pianist simply repeating the chorus over and over? This part sounded familiar. Too familiar. Then a wrong note tripped the song; the pianist’s fingers slipped. He corrected it shortly, arms tensing at the mistake. He then continued, leaping to another key to add variety to the lackadaisical loop. At the altar, the priest tugged at his collar, as if beginning to sweat. More and more of the guests murmured to themselves; then they sighed, stood, and left. Eventually, the sanctuary was clear, save for a handful of stragglers. The most faithful—or foolish?—lingered still, bound by anxious hope to the straightback pews. “Not to assume the worst,” she overheard someone comment, “but this sure ain’t looking great.” The voice echoed around the room. No one answered for a minute. “I mean, we’ve all been late at times, but this is something else, you know?” Imelda automatically turned. It was easy to locate the speaker among the empty church—as well as the grim expressions of the party around him. The speaker, a donkey, hopped from side to side, almost like a frightened rabbit. “Maybe we should call a search party. That sound like a good idea?” “I’m sure he is okay,” said the biggest ogre briskly, though without overly strong conviction. “It’s likely he just got held up on the way. Or captured. You know how he is.” Friends? Were they close friends of Puss? Imelda slid towards the end of her pew. Had they seen him more recently than she had? Were they more acquainted with his whereabouts and escapades? Even if they knew only a little more than she, perhaps they could help her learn— But no...before she could move too far, or think to call out, this group also rose from their seats, trudging with reluctant steps and forlorn faces towards the doors. Soon after they exited, the great eye of the dragon vanished from the window, allowing the grayish light from outdoors to seep into the church. Then the doors clicked shut, like a hardback snapping its cover after the final pages had been turned. Her son had not come. The priest cleared his throat, and at last, the pianist silenced his fingers. The somber stillness in the church...seemed fit more for a funeral than a wedding. “Puss in Boots, where are you?” Imelda whispered. She abandoned the roses on the pew, gathered her skirts, and bustled towards the back of the church. Maybe he had delayed due to nervousness? She circled the building several times, checking each nook and cranny. She knew where cats loved to hide. She nearly expected to locate him tucked in a corner or high on a ledge, with that sheepish grin she’d come to love so well. Yet, Puss in Boots was nowhere to be found. Desperate, Imelda threw open the doors and hurried along the dirt road. Behind her, the church bell rang the hour. The wrong hour. Oh, how gloomy and gray it was outside! It was as if the sun itself had chosen to depart, yet another discouraged guest who couldn’t bear the pain of fruitless waiting. Imelda regarded the clouds with all the sympathy in her heavy heart. And there, on the horizon, she thought she saw something. Was that—? Yes. There? She thought she saw a figure on the hilltop. Small by distance or by stature, she could not tell. Maybe the figure was orange, or maybe that was a trick of her aging eyes. But the figure—if he was a figure—stood there, looking towards the church, and Imelda wanted to believe. She clutched her skirts and ran. Scuffing her dress shoes over the barren ground, stumbling twice in her haste, scrunching the papers in her pocket each time she fell. She who had not run a great distance in many years galloped like a young bull set loose in a pen. Winded before she got very far, Imelda hurried anyway, only hindered when she stumbled a third time, this time hitting the dirt with a thump. Her hip complained; her knees ached. But that sort of pain was measly compared to that of defeat. Oh, how that pain stung. For the figure upon the hill was turning away. She was not fast enough. Imelda cursed her weakness. But her voice was strong, after years of training. Years of practice, shouting over the hullabaloo in the orphanage, gaining the attention of rowdy youngsters. She had yelled for him before. She could do so again. “PUSS IN BOOTS!” Imelda screamed into the wind. And the wind carried her voice over that hill, and the next, and onward and onward, echoing across the land. And she had no doubt that if it that figure was him—was her son—then he would have heard her. He would have heard. She waited. But there was no response. And no lonely figure crested the hill, to meet his mother while she cried for him. ~ <<< First Chapter

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