Ricardo Sevilla's Blog

A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.

 

 “Write hard and clear about what hurts.” – Ernest Hemingway

 

...

 

 

 

 

I smile at her, and she smiles back. 


A face I never thought I would see again.

 

"I missed you."

 

"I missed you too."


The distance of time mercifully allowing me to forget.


Yet, decides to bring back everything in an instant.

 

And under new circumstances,

 

The cruel vision of a garden bursting into life.

 

-RS

 

 

It's never too late to apologize

 

There will be times when people you care about disappoint you, and those times can hurt. What do you do when this happens to you?  If an apology is given to you, and you feel it be sincere, do you still walk away?

 

In the past, I would. However, I now understand that forgiveness is a beautiful thing. I know so many people that will fight to the bitter end, to prove they are right and forget the big picture. When someone places their ego aside, in search for something bigger than themselves, that is something I inherently respect, admire, and to be honest... value. Even if someone is wrong, the simple act of putting aside what happened for the sake of a friendship/relationship is rare. It's a form of effort, and in the end, that is ALL that matters.

 

So I chose to forgive her.

 

That night, after I put my daughter to bed, I sat on my couch, finished my glass of wine, pulled out my phone, and re-read our conversation. And I felt happy. 

 

Congrats to Yuselys and Gabriel


Drove to Gainsville this past weekend to celebrate the gender reveal of this amazing woman's baby. Very happy for you Yusely and Gabriel, especially since both of you always wanted a little girl! 

 

 

 

A Broken Down Song

 

Parchment lies down flat.

A canvas for me to express through.

E-mailing, text messages, and even phone calls collapse.

Two echo voices of selfish views.

Closed off to other sounds.

A new approach to a broken down song. 

 

An old way of writing.

Insecure choice of words.

By candlelight, dipping into Ink that personifies.

Pen nib caressing parchment, lightly scratching.

A flow of words and Ink.

The heart's way of expression.

 

Pauses between thoughts to feed pen.

Forced to introspect between sentences.

Brief interludes that feel like an eternity.

Dying each time.

Knowing the attempt is in vain.

But through this, a passion is born.