It’s just me and a blank paper, nothing more. Short and meaningless words, blind hopes and cold souls exist in the middle of this silent night. All is mute and all that I am feeling is the wind in my back, trying to get into this living cage. My words are my weapons against something that I have always denied-myself.
This piece of sheet is the only thing that I am left with, under this weak and pale light, along side with a deadly hunger for living and dreaming.
I look at the moon, a simple white circle on the sky and my tears are discovering my bruised skin, falling on this paper, the witness of my last insomnia, my last iced touch, my last memory. My thoughts are fighting with my inner demons, because in this empty room is a hidden hell, behind this small girl, there is an unbelievable pain, that wants to meet the human world and writing is the gate.
Time has been my biggest enemy. I feel the minutes disappearing under my shaky hands and the whole Universe starts to decompose slowly after only a breath. I do not blame anyone for my condition, for my dying smile. All that i have done was looking for happiness, just it.
Sounds funny right?
A little girl, who was looking for a little significant reason to cherish about, is, now, writing her own testament. You would think that i did not find or feel contentment, but I saw it and just for one second.
I believe humans are spirits with good or bad looking covers, trying to fit in, to survive in this tiny, but, yet, undiscovered Universe.
All that I am writing right now is a tribute for all this living creatures, because they taught me that emotions are not a sin. My subconsciousness did not realised what really means being human, my perspectives about pain, love, the authenticity of myself, did not exist.
But does anyone have it? Is anybody really happy?
These questions determined my very being, created my anxiety. The ticking of the cruel clock is crushing my body, but my words are still living through my deep voices.
”Keep going”
I am telling myself, that’s what i have been hearing for my entire life and today is the last moment when my lips are going to stop moving. The most marvellous part of being able the see or hear is the weather. Oh God, I will miss the rain, my truest friend. It’s touch is like a lover’s one, pure and unforgettable. I wish I could kiss it, because with every drop there was a new beginning, a new hope and reason to be alive.
The fear of people revealed it’s magic, they were always afraid of getting wet and cursed under a umbrella. Their dry faces were as emotionless as a stone. They did not care about the blessed sound, neither the feeling of putting out the fire of ache.
How can you not feel sorry for those hurt spirits? Spirits that are always in a hurry and are dominated by sorrow, even if it’s raining?
I begin to hate the fact that we are given the chance to live to the fullest every single day. And we limit ourselves to waking up tired and going to sleep lifeless. I am surrounded by darkness, broken minds. The only light i see is the one after the kiss of rain.
Stars are looking at me, judging me for this night, without dreams. Only tears and the smell burned cigaretts, lighted up for every regret and every word.
I feel my blood turning into poison. My thoughts are losing theirs meanings. There is something inside me, keeping my eyes crazy wide open, my hands moving and with every heart beat there are seconds left.
This cage of my loneliness is the empire of my madness, where i try to hide from what is outside this room. I can’t resist to death, even if i see it walking on the streets, gracefully, around all those virgin souls.
I wish I could tell her: ” This is a letter from an angel, who lived along with humans and died because she lost herself in the abyss of their feelings”.
But I still have a few seconds left and I know it is a few blocks away. I have time to live a little more in this broken paradise.
But, what is happiness? I have seen a lot of people smiling, but that’s not the definition of euphoria. It’s like a drug, you are afraid of it at first, but then you can’t stop from living with it. Hesitaton becomes obsession.
Why do people think that happiness is a destination, an aim? When you can feel like in the seventh heaven, loving somebody, consuming yourself for another broken heart?
I am looking through the mirror and i see my reflection. I was once happy seing myself, that pure and now, just another human bridge, ready to collapse. I see hope when people are showing affection and are capable to love unconditionally.I am trapped in a world full of egos, where social positions are more important than the human need.
Now, all the eyes are blind folded, mouths are sewed and hearts, destroyed and all I can see are corpses walking around.
Roads and corners of buildings are dominated by screams, praying for liberty, for a little colour in all this darkness. The only light is the one above the paper, burning my eyes, being patient with my way of expressing the side effects.
A prison of my mind.
It feels like a war and our space is the battle field. Just a hunted, wicked world hidden behind this words. Outside this sick room, where I try to take my very last breath, there is a girl waiting in the cold, with bare feet, bruised hands and a hope. I can hear her heartbeat and it gives me thrills. She is looking at the night sky, feeling that breeze in her hair.
All is swollen up by fog and she just stays there, waiting to vanish just like smoke. I see the pain, everyone caries it around their necks and feet like chains. She barely can breathe, but is sitting quietly, waiting for the demons to chase her light .
The only human soul left in this bullet of sadness, full of exaushtion. I am tired of this. My room is still silent and all I can feel is the last heartbeat. I am ready to meet with death, to give the roses of my hopes and the kiss of my soul.
Humans are something different, they are poetry, a maze just for themselves, absorbed in this world. I am hearing the rain, finally, my old love is here to meet me on my final road.
This world of darkness and lost souls stays in the back of my everything, but it’s cold, it’s real unexistence fulfilled my mind. The fire from my chest tastes only gasoline from the creatures denying their fellings, the tears on my face becomes the memory of rain and the bruises are the new tottoos. This paper is ending, the clock is ticking, my light is turning off.
There is death right behind me, with her solid mortal bones on my shoulder and me, the lost angel, the one who tried to be human and lived all. I am all and i am nothing, this paper is the main proof of my phylosophy and my madness. I do not feel the wind anymore, that inner rebellion is all in hear, in the blood of my words.
There is one room, one paper, one clock, the last heartbeat and the last hope. Just it, me and moon.
Yours truthfully,
Adela
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