Sailing to You

Some journeys are undertaken with a map. And then there are journeys — the most important ones — that begin with a single coordinate: a name, a glance, an "I wish." Sailing to You, Marcelo Rioja's third book, is the logbook of one such journey. It is a collection of poems that reads like a ship's diary, written from the uncertainty of the open sea, where the destination (the beloved's heart) is a lighthouse that sometimes shines clearly and other times hides behind the fog of distance and silence.

The Geometry of Love

The book opens with a nautical metaphor that serves as its title and its central axis. The poet casts off, venturing into a "stormy sea" with a fragile sailboat, but with a course "defined: straight to your heart." This image of a journey, with its risks of shipwreck and its promise of a final shore, sustains the entire collection.

However, the geometry of this love is not a straight line. It is a space filled with precise shapes and measurements that the poet uses to try to understand and capture a feeling that is, by definition, infinite. Here, love is measured and drawn: in concentric circles, as in the ingenious Happy π Day, where 3.14 becomes a celebration of being "trapped in your heart" and the possibility of walking "around your circumference to add another digit to your already beautiful figure." It is one of the clearest examples of how Marcelo integrates his technical perspective with his poetic sensibility, finding beauty in mathematical precision. In coordinates, as in In All My Coordinates, where the beloved becomes the fixed point in a changing universe, dwelling in the mind and reigning in the heart, regardless of distance. As a fixed point in the North, as in Beyond My Sight, where Yildun, the star, becomes the symbol of a love kept "in the deepest part of my being."

The Constellation of Her

Just as in In Search of You, the cosmos is an immense canvas onto which the poet projects his love. But here, on this early journey, the gaze is different. It is not the certainty that she is the universe, but rather the search for a reflection of her in the universe.

Yildun, "The Spanish Dancer," becomes his favorite star, a symbol of the beauty and grace he sees in her. Galaxies, nebulae, and the "Pillars of Creation" are not just cosmic embellishment; they are the physical medium on which the poet dreams of writing his declaration. Graffiti in the Universe is, in this sense, a foundational poem. The idea of using the James Webb Space Telescope so that a distant star might reveal an "I LOVE YOU" is a declaration of intent: a desire for love to be so immense that it could be read from any corner of the cosmos. It is the dream of a love that transcends the personal to become a universal message, an idea that will fully blossom in his later book.

Pain and Hope as Fuel

The preface is heartbreaking in its honesty: "They were written during her absence, when she barely responded to my messages." This context is vital for reading the book. Hope here is not a certainty; it is an act of faith. Each "I wish" in the poem of the same name is a small lifeline thrown into the sea of uncertainty.

This fragility is palpable in poems like Soul Adrift, dated January 1, 2022, where the poet confesses, "Today I am more than lost, because I lost something that wasn't mine." It is a verse of devastating lucidity about the nature of unrequited desire. The loss of something never possessed is the most difficult pain to process, and Marcelo names it with a disarming simplicity.

Yet, the book does not shipwreck in pain. Hope resurfaces time and again, often fueled by small gestures. In the preface, he states it clearly: "Even so, every word she dedicated to me was an impulse to keep writing." This dependence on a minimal response, on a shred of attention, is what humanizes the poet and makes him deeply relatable. The reader is not witnessing a triumphant declaration of love, but the daily effort, the meticulous construction of a dream.

Humor and Tenderness on the Voyage

Despite the emotional weight, Marcelo does not lose his sense of humor. The image of himself, at his age, with a "fragile sailboat" in Sailing to You, or the idea of being the first to make "graffiti in the universe," brings a lightness that balances the overall tone. He is a poet who takes his feelings seriously, but not necessarily himself.

Tenderness, for its part, manifests in the most everyday details. Flowers for You, where a sunflower, cherry blossoms, and a rose travel "among my prayers," transforms a simple "good morning" wish into a cosmic ritual. Prepared with Love, dedicated to some chocolates and alfajores, elevates the domestic to the category of poetry, understanding that love is also cooked in the kitchen and sweetened in the wait.

Toward the Lighthouse

The epilogue, "The Lighthouse of an Illuminated Heart," is the key to understanding the book in its entirety. Marcelo defines himself as a lighthouse: not someone who passively waits to be found, but someone who "lights up the heart" and continues to guide, even from a distance. "Each poem is a spark of that fire, a way of telling you: here I am, I love you, and I still believe."

This is the engine of Sailing to You: belief. The belief that love, even if it is a solitary and sometimes adrift journey, deserves to be lived and told. The book ends, but the lighthouse's light does not go out. And it is this light that, as we now know, guided the poet to his final port in In Search of You.

Conclusion

Sailing to You is an honest, brave, and deeply moving book. It is the testimony of a man who, with a fragile sailboat and a clear course, dared to cross the stormy sea of love. His poems are the entries in the logbook of that journey: sometimes hopeful, sometimes painful, always authentic. It is a book that functions as a necessary prologue and an independent work, a mirror in which any reader who has loved from a distance can see themselves reflected. A journey, ultimately, that deserves to be read and remembered.

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A Second Reading

There are books written from the safety of reciprocated love. And there are books born from something far braver — total uncertainty, hope without guarantees, the faith of someone who lights a lighthouse without knowing whether anyone will see it from the sea.

Sailing to You is one of those books.

Marcelo Rioja himself confesses it in his preface with a disarming honesty: these poems were written "during her absence, when she barely replied to my messages." This is not a book of triumphant love, but of love under construction — verse by verse, poem by poem, built upon the fragile foundation of an occasional reply that was enough to keep writing. "Every word she dedicated to me was an impulse to continue writing" — that sentence explains everything. This is the book of someone who loves without a safety net.

And yet, or perhaps precisely because of that, it is an extraordinary book.

The Sailboat and the Lighthouse

The nautical metaphor that gives the book its title is not an ornament — it is a philosophy. The poet casts off in the very first poem knowing that his sailboat is fragile, not because the wind might carry it elsewhere, but because the fragility comes from within, from himself, from his own body and mind. "I myself am the one who can run aground" — that honesty about personal vulnerability is one of the most powerful discoveries of the book, and one of the rarest in love poetry.

But facing the fragile sailboat stands the lighthouse — and the epilogue reveals it with perfect clarity: "Because when one truly loves, one does not remain still. One feels, writes, waits, and lights the heart like a lighthouse. Not to be found, but to continue guiding."

That distinction is essential. Marcelo Rioja does not write in order to be loved. He writes in order to guide. Every poem is a spark from that fire — a way of saying: here I am, I love you, and I still believe.

The Cosmos as the Language of Love

Marcelo Rioja's universe is not decoration — it is his native language. In this book, the poet writes from the dark side of the Moon with Earth glowing like a suspended lantern, records love songs upon Saturn's rings, writes "I LOVE YOU" across the nebulas so that the James Webb telescope may photograph them, and ends with "TAM" in gold — a coded secret that only she can fully decipher.

Yildun, the star in Ursa Minor, becomes the book's central symbol. It is not a metaphor chosen at random — it is her nickname, her Turkish name, her personal star. The galaxy The Dancing Spaniard spins with the grace of the flamenco she carries within her soul. Radio telescopes scan the cosmos while he has already found his star within. The astronaut seated in the lunar desert waiting for Earth to rise — and with it, her turquoise-blue gaze.

Yet alongside the galaxies are the chocolates and alfajores she leaves before departing, the tender "little God" of the sidereal sailboat, the Sunday crossword puzzles where they learned Morse code together — that message of eternal love encrypted in dots and dashes that only the two of them know how to read. Marcelo Rioja possesses the gift of leaping from Saturn to the kitchen without the reader ever feeling the vertigo of the jump, because for him there is no distance between the two.

The Geometry of Love

This is also a book of mathematics — of a very particular kind. In Happy π Day, love is measured in concentric circles and the poet walks along her circumference to add one more digit to her infinite perfection. In In All My Coordinates, she is the fixed point in a changing universe. In Seat — the book's most ingenious poem — the interplay between feeling, sitting, and agreeing builds a linguistic labyrinth that ends in the most beautiful surrender possible: "But I assent, for I cannot escape the love I feel."

It is the gaze of a man who finds poetry in precision — and precision in poetry.

Honest Pain

Sailing to You is not a book of certainty, but of hope — and there is an enormous difference between the two. The book's most painful poem, Soul Adrift, dated January 1st, 2022, says it with devastating lucidity: "Today I am more than lost, because I lost something that was never mine." The loss of something never possessed is the hardest pain to name, and Marcelo Rioja names it with a disarming simplicity.

But the book does not sink into that pain. Hope resurfaces again and again — in the litanies of Hopefully, in the determination of Where the Two of Us, in the serenity of Having Been Born to Love. Because this is, fundamentally, a book about the capacity to love — not about being loved. And that distinction, established from the first page, is what makes it a singular work.

Tenderness and Humor

Marcelo Rioja does not lose his sense of humor even in the most intense moments. The image of himself, at his age, with a very fragile sailboat navigating the stormy sea of love possesses a self-awareness and grace that balance the tone. "I never scratched a desk at school, nor my notebooks… but now I spend my time painting hearts across the cosmos" — that line from the epilogue, which connects with Graffiti in the Universe, is one of the most endearing moments in the entire work.

Tenderness, meanwhile, reveals itself in the smallest and most personal details. Sidereal Sailboat — written immediately after a phone call, before curling up hopefully like a child. Flowers for You — where the cherry blossom was chosen for the delicacy of its color and the rose bears its love message written upon every petal. Prepared with Love — where chocolates and alfajores made by her become poetry because she is, as he himself confesses, an expert in the art.

The Revised Edition and Alternative Text

The edition the reader now holds includes alternative text for each image — a gesture of accessibility and inclusion that reflects the same sensitivity that runs through all of Marcelo Rioja's poetry. The photographs of galaxies, sunsets, moons, and seas are not illustrations but integral parts of the poem. The alternative text ensures that no reader is excluded from that complete experience.

The Lighthouse Remains Lit

The epilogue closes the book with three lines that say everything: "This book ends, but my love does not. I keep writing. I keep waiting. I keep loving."

And it leaves a light burning — the lighthouse of an illuminated heart — so that when she needs it, she may find him in every verse.

Sailing to You is the book of someone who loves without guarantees, writes without a net, and waits without limits of time. It is the logbook of a voyage that does not end with the final period — because, as the poet himself knows, love never ends with the final period.

The sailboat is fragile. The sea is uncertain. But the lighthouse remains lit.

And that, as Marcelo Rioja says, is enough to keep loving.