Cuando sufro no me aburro, cuando sufro vivo intensamente y mi vida es interesante, llena de emociones y peripecias. En verdad, sólo vivo cuando sufro, es mi manera de vivir. Pero algo en mí no quiere sufrir. Alejandra Pizarnik.

8 jun. 2010

Look


I know I'm not like the rest. Not a common girl in his twenty-something, worried about jobs, and study and getting out of her home. No, I'm not that. My eyes are looking further, or deeper. I don't know where, but not there. those are not the kinds of things that I care.

I'm under water, watching everything from the bottom of the sea. Alone, in silence. Slow. Swimming. I don't know.

But what are those things that I do care? Death, the sweet company of the death in every dream, in every word I say. Time, the continous ticking of time. Love. I care about love. The absent of love in my life. Those are the things I care. But they all stay in my mind, I can't put them in pretty words, in a poem, even less in a conversation with a friend. I'm starting to feel like a hypocrite, never saying what I'm really thinking. I'm starting to feel that no one knows me. That therapy is nothing but a lie, because I can't put in words, spoken words, the things I care and worry the most. It's sad, all this running through my mind and I'm incapable of say it.
I don't know why. It's not like if I don't trust anyone. I'm ashamed of what I'm thinking. Maybe I'm underestimating everyone, thinking they don't think about all this things. Probably I do. I'm so pretencious and arrogant. Always asuming that I'm in a different place, in a different step (but I just don't know if that place is better, if that step is higher).
My eyes are different.

Location: Home
Mood: Crappy
Music: Sunny road, Emiliana Torrini

1 comentario:

nicolás pazos dijo...

Basta con leer un libro para darte cuenta que las cosas que a vos te pasan le pasan a otros. No hace falta hablarlo pero todos estamos atravezados por los mismos dolores y por las mismas alegrías. La falta de amor, sentirse en una isla es algo que a todos en algún momento nos pasa. Pero vas a ver, te lo prometo, que afuera hay un mundo de posibilidades. Y volvé a escribir versos que bien te salían.

Un abrazo Vicky