How long does
“too soon” last ?
I regressed
To the point that
I don’t know the words
That could express how I feel.
I feel dumb,
So much that
I don’t even know
My name.
I am a nobody.
I feel detached,
So remote, that it scares me to death.
My body doesn’t anchor me
Here below.
I could try
To overcome all that
But I would be building
New lies to cover up for
That thing
I hate to acknowledge,
I fear to admit has come back.
Depression.
However I won’t lie to myself.
It is just me and my feelings now,
In an honest face-to-face,
A showdown maybe.
My home was rickety
So I ruined it
And dug deep down
To the foundations
In order to destroy them.
I had found a more secure structure
For my new foundations.
With vim had I started
The new construction work
And had been making good progress.
Then the Architect addressed me
In the most sibylline way,
Sparkling doubt.
I came to a stop
And looked at what I had built.
Suddenly the whole structure
Made no sense to me,
Like pieces of a puzzle
Arranged in an unintended way
Giving illusion of completeness
As it could in truth
Be even more fragile than before.
I am about to take it all down,
All my newly accomplished work,
But I can’t resolve to do so,
As I have no new design
For my foundations.
So I sit down in the dirt
And cry.
I was going my way,
It was a tough quest
But I was confident
That it would take me
To my destination.
Then I hit a wall.
Bewildered I began to wonder,
On what side of the wall
Am I supposed to be ?
On what side of the wall
Was I before anyway ?
On what side of the wall
May I meet my true self ?
Would it have felt
Like the late evening storm
That ends a day of suffocating heat,
Would it have provided relief,
Had I kissed her
When I had the chance ?
Would I be living less in the past
And a little more in the present
Was my train of thoughts not like a merry-go-round,
Would I be able to move on,
Had we had more time together
When we both seemed to want it ?
Would it have made her less obsessing today ?
Would it have made me spare the pain
Of telling her
“good night” ?
That bubble in which I live is my horizon,
The bigger, the more my bubble encloses
People, time, opportunities, smells and colors,
The world.
The Universe.
Other Universes, real and fantasized.
My life is me moving inside of my bubble,
Trying to make it grow,
Trying to make it mount the rising slope,
Trying to make it roll faster in the descent
And laugh.
When the bubble shrinks to the point
Of being my second skin,
My world get smaller,
My own universe smothers me.
I become blind to my environment,
To the possibilities,
Not because I get self-absorbed
But because I become self-contained,
Illusion of a tiny Universe,
That cannot exist.
A black hole to be born.
A bubble of chaos
Floating in the air
Like a child’s balloon set free
By accident.
The disease had no name,
So my body handled it
By its own.
Making me feel older than a dying tree.
Every move and every thought,
Like a marathon,
Like a boxing fight.
My strengths consumed, I felt fragile as a dried flower.
I soon entered a survival mode, concerned only
By immediate matters,
Eat, sleep, repeat.
Survival is like a long tunnel.
Nothing to be seen ahead I could only rely on
My hands to feel
walls and obstacles.
Driven only by the will of not turning back simply moving forward.
My morale was slowly diminished by the lack of physical strength,
Like an iceberg
Taken away by the sun.
Inside this tunnel, there were no milestones, so I got lost.
Only when I approached the exit could I realize,
How lost I had been.
How dark it was down there.
How I could have lost myself forever,
Just because of
An invisible tiny bacteria.
