Palabras on Paper

¿Qué hacer para explicarte
si quiero hablar contigo
no me salen las palabras?

No sé que hacer para decirte
que eres como una carta
que me falta por abrir

¿Qué hacer para explicarte
que no encuentro las palabras
que había escrito para tí?

No sé que hacer para explicarte
que tú eres como un libro
que no supe escribir
con palabras de amor,
con palabras que no mienten
con palabras que se esconden
y que nunca sabré donde

-Jarabe de Palo

I'm stuck. I'm supposed to start writing a book, but nothing's coming to me.
No sé que hacer para explicarte que tú eres como un libro que no supe escribir. . . I know what he's talking about! The memories are there inside my head, but putting them on paper is a different story. Get it? A different story? Maybe what's inside my head isn't meant to be written down. Maybe what makes the story so special is that only I know it. It's mine to tell, or not to tell.

What about paper? It's not special until someone graces it with a fluid flourish of paint or ink. Suddenly, that insignificant piece of paper is special. We frame it, treasure it, store it away, put it on display. What's the difference between a receipt and a love letter? They're both just pieces of paper. . . aren't they? One's a record of money spent, the other a record of feelings revealed. One goes in the trash can and the other. . . well, you get the idea.

I'm afraid I've dealt with more receipts than love letters.

A piece of paper is nothing more than paper until it's covered with feeling. A book is just a figment of the imagination until it's brought to life on paper.

I have special paper, but no book.