It's natural to be afraid

               Oh dear,

please say that we don't grow up so fast that our legs become too short for the steps we want to take. I'm looking for some kind of confirmation to the fact that life would be much easier if that growing up thing would have ceased in the moment when I saw that I would never again grow taller than my height.

But the concept of growing up is as wide as the path ahead of me is long and I'm tired by nature and would rather sit here and contemplate on concepts than take that next step. It all is so unsure and unknown when I look ahead. The road is uncertain and foggy when you don't want to sacrifice the ideal of staying forever young.

                       Tell me I don't have an expiration date, that there is no due time for me to carry on.
Assure me that the only obligation I have is getting up every day to go to classes in which I will misuse all my knowledge and waste all my intellect in pursuit of a better future.


             Say that I have you forever,
                                                       to tell me what's right from wrong in your unawareness, so youthful as mine with the virtue of not being at a crossroads where the only path you can't follow is the one that already took you there.

                                        Just say we will stay the same, here, in the present that won't give in to a future or be a past... Here, forever.

Psyche

I swear it is just like a light switch. The idea of you comes along and an instant and almost irrational wish to talk to you comes along to tell me that I miss you too much. It is as if I would be talking to a self that I left behind somewhere, different from me, as our times are different, but still too familiar not to feel as if something, someone, of my own. As if I had ever owned anything.

It is a kind a love even though no one else needs to know. It’s the love I should have for myself, it’s the love I have for all that I cannot truly have, it’s the love for the unknown, the love that I never knew how to feel, the love that bears no fruits, the love for the sake of love that means nothing at all to everyone but the one who feels it. It’s a love that’s not really love, a love that is there not to be felt but just to exist. Like a universal truth and a paradox when it comes to be felt. It embarrasses me for its intensity whilst it seems to lack any basis for a real existence. It makes me smile as if I’d found some lost piece of me though I feel like crying when I conclude that even though a piece was found, it’s not meant to be put together.

And I’ve cried over it though unknowingly. I’ve cried as I ran away from goodbyes, I’ve cried as I smiled for I’d never felt so happy and sad at the same time, I’ve cried in that fraction of a second between having you to hold and seeing you walk away, I’ve cried as if the moment in which I discovered who I was had came around again and, right then and there, I was 21 and the Summer had come to tell me it would all be ok.

But summers haven’t been the same in quite a while, not since the Winter came along and brought me those I can’t forget. Nothing has felt quite the same and though I miss nothing I miss everything, including myself with you, through Winters, Mid-Summers and the unbearable heat. I can still see you smiling if I look behind. I can still hear you laugh; I can still feel you as if I could actually touch you if only I took a couple of steps. I still struggle to understand why I questioned you when you did the unexpected things that I actually wished for. I still struggle to understand my social incompetence, my inability to behave, my harsh comments, my care for everything and anything, my attention to detail and the way I can be so sensitive to stupid stuff. And also all that you do, which is this and more. A vivid memory that I never want to forget, the thought of you comes along accordingly.

One day I found myself and after getting to know that stranger, ever so slightly, once I got to see that apparent differences actually mean nothing next to all that is so akin, I couldn’t stop my smile as I said: Pleasure to meet you.

Original's Translation Exercise - Half truths/Half Lies

It is all of that plus a nothing that drowns me in its oppression. The emptiness and the desire walking hand in hand, in a dislocated alliance that defragments the illogic being with which I cannot deal. It is  all of that.

A piece of thought in the form of disqualified dream. That mediocre expectation one has when there is nothing else to do and that makes you fear everything, even when that  everything boils down to absolutely nothing. A glass half empty in a table set for one. Because the thirst to have it all never allows the cup such circumstance as the one of being half full.

I will get a dictionary and throw it at your head in hopes that, out of it, comes an assortment of words which form a sentence with the slightest bit of logic to transmit something that I might want to say. If I think enough about those words that I don’t find and in those sentences I cannot put together as the dictionary hits you, will something good enough come out of it? As for me, I’ll throw myself into a house of mirrors to know and be filled with the person I live with, maybe then I won’t feel so lonely or maybe I’ll turn into a lunatic whose disease can be proven, then, with it, I’ll be able to justify everything, these texts written late and at a bad time, as no time it such type of thoughts can be good.

You know what want I tell you? Throw yourself down that abyss so that you can end up with your face on the floor where you once saw it smeared on. More of the same tastes as something new when you don’t want to search for more, isn’t it? Go through those roads where you’ve lost and couldn’t find yourself, not yourself nor anything but loneliness. Discourses of self-reflection aren’t worth a thing when you don’t accept yourself, child, who doesn’t know how to walk but already dreams of not walking but teletransporting and tells himself that nothing is impossible unless we determine it so.

Half truths or half lies? Everything depends on perspective and when such thing is my responsibility I prefer to say everything I think and make up what I don’t think, abuse of cruelty and kindness and be whatever I want to. Half truths or half lies? Only I know and even so, in the end, all that is said is worth something. Interpret whatever you want but here is the warning, you’re in the house of appearances where not even the walls you see you truly know.