When I met you I didn't know what we would become.
I didn't know what love would turn us into.
I didn't even know that you would be the love to me that I never imagined I would find. I didn't know that love saves.
I didn't know that love would take my breath away as only you can take it, love.
When I met you I had to fight with every fear that I had always carried inside me, every day for all my life. I had to fight myself and you because you weren't real. You were dreaming and dreams hurt in the morning when you wake up. You I love you was a struggle against everything I had in my heart and brain.
Because you know, the heart goes on one side, the brain on the other.
And I believe that love is love when the brain and heart both answer yes.
Becoming yours was a reward, it was receiving the best gift ever requested and received. You weren't expected, you weren't expected to upset my life. It was not expected that together we would be different.
Beautiful things are never expected.
Love, they say, is seeing even the worst of the other beautiful and it is true. True because I see everything about you beautiful, even your worst. Because loving is first learning to love mistakes. The defects, the ugliness, the troubles of the other.
When I met you I did not know, you taught me.
Like everything else. Like to love, like to fly looking at a pair of eyes. How to write your name everywhere. How to learn how to make cakes just to surprise you.
That fighting is the most powerful demonstration of love there is.
That the sun in your eyes warms up more willingly if two hands are intertwined, especially if these hands are ours.
When I met you I didn't know that making yourself beautiful was something to give to you.
I did not know that each of your "you are beautiful" would remain engraved in the heart and each "I love you" would become a mark on the bones.
When I met you I didn't know that loving you would empty and fill me with everything and that being naked in front of you meant feeling free for the first time in my entire life.
But love, I'm not just talking about a naked me in your arms, I'm not just talking about skin that undresses and hands that touch, I'm talking about showing you my heart as it is, without barriers, without reservations: naked.You took it. I gave it to you.
And I thank you for all the fears you have taken, for all the insecurities that you have cured me, for all the still open wounds that you have disinfected me. Thanks.
Because people don't know they hurt, because life doesn't know it's hurting and because we ourselves don't know how to stop hurting ourselves and then we are poisoned by wounds that do not heal and for this I thank you for coming, for knowing you and letting myself be saved.
When I met you I did not know that love is a miracle and that the greatest miracle for me is you. 


at the end of the end of the world we will realize that life is out of the house and how stupid the borders are of what it matters to be first at the end of the end of the world we will stop putting a price on everything to build walls and close borders and to think too much about it if you invite me to drink at the end of the end of the world we’ll make love as the fuck it goes there will be no natural family but nature will recognize us at the end of the end of the world we will have understood that we are saved together holding out his hand to those who get lost in the sea and ceasing to pollute the sky at the end of the end of the world there will be no production awards happiness will have bare feet everything you live for will be free at the end of the end of the world it will be the beginning of the beginning of the world.
I must not lose what is superfluous, the superfluous of my life, in which my wealth is hidden, the possible source of my creativity, which reveals the worthy part of my existence (but why is it important that it be revealed? the inexhaustible question of all time). Lately I miss the big dreams that show the way. I sleep in vain, and awakening is even superfluous. When a feeling leaves you, here is the infinite desert. When you have finished reading a long book, getting lost in its world; when you have ended a love relationship; when the sting of inspiration disappears – you are without purpose, desire, will and other personal manipulations – you suddenly understand and see the world exactly as it is, for what it really is. You experience your graceless being, and you understand that the ruin of Western civilization is also your doing. All that remains is to live in an anachronistic, that is, tragic way, in the grandiose dimension of the absurdity of life and sudden and unpredictable death, as someone for whom only this one, short summer was given between two paralyzed lives.
I remember when I was looking forward to December 21st 2012. I don’t know if I was more relieved or more disappointed by the fact that I believed it so much and then saw nothing happen, at least apparently and immediately. Yet, that day, to date, we could very well define it as the day of the beginning of the social, cultural, environmental regression in the world. So we make sense of the prophecy of the end of the world.
They say you reap what you sow, but that’s all bullshit. I spent my time saving anyone in need by putting my all into it, neglecting myself. All I got in return was that as soon as those people were happy again, it didn’t take long for them to walk away from me, left alone with the suffering of those I saved. They say that no one saves himself, yet I have always had to rely only on my strength to get better. They say that to love, you must first love yourself, but I looked for someone to pour out everything I didn’t feel for myself, but nobody wanted it. They say that whoever finds a friend finds a treasure, but I say that there is only someone ready to stab you in the back. They say that you always go back to where you were good, and yet, despite having saved everyone, no one has ever returned. Those beautiful phrases we fill up with are all bullshit. Learn to save yourself because there will never be anyone willing. Do not trust anyone because otherwise you will only die. Love each other because no one deserves your love as much as yourself. Don’t waste time chasing people because time belongs to you, people don’t. Don’t trust sweet words and long messages because they don’t mean anything and only serve to deceive you. Do not get used to happiness because after you will know sadness and pain and without a shell you cannot survive. And tell them those “fuck you”, send them to that country, you don’t need anyone but yourself. What time you have, use it for yourself and yourselves only because others will not care about your presence. You are worth and this is not just a silly phrase from an advertisement. Make yourself desired, but without needing anyone. Suffice it, the others are just people and nothing more. Be your own superheroes and that’s enough.


Los que no pueden ser ellos mismos no lo son, y para ser ellos mismos hay que mirar no sólo dentro de sí, sino sobre todo fuera de sí mismo, ya que ser es ante todo "relación". El ser es un tema del que podemos poner, en abstracto, sólo las premisas. El desarrollo es acción, "acto puro". Y debemos actuar no solo por nosotros mismos, sino también por los demás, por aquellos que no pueden salvarse a sí mismos. Una vez me negaron ayuda y esto convirtió mi vida en una sentencia. Un msno que no llega a otra mano es una mano que rechaza la vida y condena a muerte a la otra.


Siento el dolor y con los dedos lo tomo y me lo como.
Poanho, me encanta, me canso, me quedo.
Una sensación
una certeza,
¿Qué clase de hombre es usted?
Vacío o lleno me gusta el pan.
Extraño, real, anormal.
Una cacería solitaria
en el bosque,
pies sobre la hierba,
cabeza dentro del corazón. Antes de entrar, no llames.
La puerta no existe
pasillos de respiraciones, suspiros,
alguien que llega,
no dice nada.
El espacio del aire estalló,
los locos tienen el coraje de empezar algo sin nombre.
El como estas Ha pasado un tiempo desde que escuchaste, ¿qué te pasó? Quiero oirte. Te echo de menos. Pienso constantemente en ti, en nosotras que nunca hemos podido parir. Siempre fuimos tú o yo y nunca tú y yo. Siempre estás demasiado ocupado para estar conmigo, siempre estoy demasiado preocupado por ti como para siquiera pensar en mí. No sé lo que éramos. Nos conocimos pero no nos unimos de inmediato, ni siquiera te noté. Un día encontré tu mirada, noté que me estabas mirando, a partir de ahí comencé a entender que tal vez algo estaba por nacer. Noté que no eras tan tímido como parecía que a pesar del juicio negativo que todos te atribuían, quizás empezaste a valer la pena. No entendía qué era lo que me atraía tanto de ti, pero entendí que me harías una persona feliz. No tenías muchas cualidades, pero las pocas que tenías las lograbas hacer prevalecer sobre toda la infinidad de defectos que tenías. Tus miradas, tus manos, tus formas empezaron a devorarme por dentro. Comencé a comprender que tal vez ya no podría prescindir de él. Empezaste a jugar el juego y me gustó incluso si era muy vago, un poco como un cañón suelto que nunca se sabe cuándo explotará, así que ten cuidado. La diferencia es que he sido ingenuo y distraído y he dejado que la situación caiga en picado. Era una situación que a mí personalmente me encantaba, pero nadie entendía, 'ten cuidado, terminarás destruyéndote', me dijeron. Pero estaba feliz y estaba bien. Las primeras salidas, las miradas, las caricias, los abrazos, los besos robados que nunca tuvimos el valor de darnos. Llegué al punto en el que no podía imaginarme si esto realmente estaba sucediendo o si todo estaba en mi cabeza. Todavía recuerdo esas palabras 'algún día lo haremos, tú me esperas y allí estaré'.
Lo creí, lo creí tanto ... 'demasiado bueno para ser verdad' me repetía a mí mismo, 'demasiado bueno, no merezco todo esto' dije. No entendía si el deseo por ti era más fuerte o la conciencia de tenerte mía. Te habías convertido en una especie de adicción, pero me olvidé por completo de que las adicciones tarde o temprano matan. Todo fue un cuento de hadas, mi cuento de hadas y yo estaba constantemente oscilando entre "pero, ¿esto realmente está sucediendo?" Y el 'faltó un poquito, y habremos ganado'. Te di todo. Te permití usarme, usarme cuando lo necesitabas y lo aprovechaste. Pero estaba bien para mí, estaba bien porque te amaba y estaba convencido de que valdría la pena, porque tú lo valías. Ya no sé quién soy, ya no me reconozco, ya no me río, nada me hace feliz excepto tú. Me has consumido. No debería haberlo permitido. ¿Y ahora? Ahora ya no sé lo que somos, te amo, tú no me amas. Desapareciste, no sé dónde estás, con quién estás y si piensas en mí. Mi mayor miedo se ha convertido en mi verdadera pesadilla: te perdí, te perdimos. 'Todo estaba en mi cabeza', 'fuiste estúpido por darle tanto', me sigo diciendo. Tuve que dejarte para no ser contaminado por tu mente peligrosa. Tuve que dejarte porque me amo a mí mismo y tú querías morir en su lugar. Ahora no miro atrás, no me importa lo que seas y lo que hagas. Finalmente estoy vivo.


Once upon a time there was a little girl. She had a bob of golden hair and deep dark eyes. He always smiled, he appreciated life. She was an intelligent child, she invented stories, she loved to read, she wanted to be a writer, she thought a lot. Often she was alone: ​​she was too shy to communicate with others, she was satisfied with herself, she kept everything inside. But he was happy like that. Because inside she had so many beautiful things, a magical world made of dreams, glitter, love. She loved herself, she cared about her ideals. I remember that he played with pencils, he had all the colors, he made them talk. He had a lot of dolls, but he preferred pencils. She was a sensitive, sweet, nice child. He did not want to give anything to anyone, his things were only his property. But the heart, that heart would have given it to anyone. She was a good girl, always sunny and cheerful. I often wonder what that little girl would have thought of who I am now. Certainly she would not recognize me: she would have called me crazy, she would not have understood my scars, she would have grumbled at me from the smoke, she would have been sick with my suicidal thoughts. He would cry looking at me. He would see my smile, the same as before, but sadder. She would tell me to give a damn about others and eat as much as I want, like she did. She who had been vomiting for whole nights with sweets. That little eater with the big belly. Of course, she would also have been proud of my progress, she would have complimented me because she didn't know how to do somersaults, splits, bridges; because she didn't have the courage to experiment. I've learned a lot over the years, but I miss that little girl's sweet innocence. His way of dealing with problems. Holidays, birthdays, Christmas, when she stayed up all night to hear the footsteps of a fat old man dressed in red. When the golden lights on the trees enchanted her, when her little town seemed bigger than New York. That little girl who cried a lot and for everything, a bit like now. That little girl pretending to be a model or a dancer while trying on mom's big dresses. The one who loved the world and herself. That little girl I would love to see again because I miss her. Because I wish I was still as happy as she is.The child was asleep when the door opened and someone entered. Was it the fairy tale wolf? She was asleep but suddenly she felt something. A nuisance down there. A strange and bad feeling. The little girl did not want to open her eyes. He forced himself to leave them closed. And he died under the weight of the big bad wolf.


When I was younger: I would put my arms in the shirt and tell people that I had lost my arms. I restarted the game every time I knew I was going to lose. I slept with all the stuffed animals like a baby so none of them got offended. I had that 4-color pen, and I was trying to push buttons at once. I poured the soda into a lid and shaken it as if I were making small glasses. the hardest decision was choosing which nintendo game to play. I waited behind a door to scare someone, then I left because it took too long to get out or I had to pee. I pretended to be asleep so I could be carried to bed. I thought the moon was following my car. I watched two drops of water slip on the window and pretended it was a race. I used to go to the computer just to use paint. the only thing I had to worry about was the tamagotchi. the only ‘false’ friends I had were the invisible ones. I sang in the shower. (now? now I take some life choices down there). I ingested some fruit seeds and was scared to death that a tree would grow in my belly. I peeled my knees which healed better than a broken heart. I remember when we were kids and couldn’t wait to grow up. what the hell were we thinking about?
The point is, when you’re fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, you can do anything. You can afford to be wrong. The thing is, it’s beautiful and we don’t realize it. It is the age of cigarettes hidden from parents, of the worst parties, in the worst clubs, with the worst music. It is the age of skipping school and falsifying it justifies it. Sweaters that are too large, tea under the covers on Sunday afternoons with friends. The walks back and forth along the same streets. Concerts. The secret diaries. The scars on his arms. The writings in the school toilets. Concerts. The joints. It is the age of mistakes, the age that does not return, the age of whatever you do you can still fix. It is the age of crying for things that are nothing and seem everything, the age of first loves, the first kisses, the pain of when it ends, the “forever” that will never be. The fact is that it is wonderful and we do not realize it, we put ourselves in a cage for fear of life, without realizing that real life is right now, the one that will not go back, the one that at thirty we would like to be able to relive. The fact is that we are a damned, burned, gone, passed away generation. The generation of facebook, twitter and tumblr. Stamps of conversations, too long messages, too many books, dilators and tattoos done without thinking. Dream catchers. Of “I want to live in London”, “I want to live in New York”. Poems on school desks, Christmas lights attached to the wall of the room. The films seen a thousand times. Friendships from a distance. The stations. The trains. The insecurities. Stop eating and start again two days later. And it’s beautiful, we just don’t realize it. I just don’t realize it. It’s time to start breathing, screaming and living. Live to your skin and bones. Live to consume our souls.
It makes me laugh at the thought that as a child I could not wait for my damn birthday to come, I liked to celebrate it because in those days I was so dumb and harmless, I believed anything I was told, and sure that I grew up wrong .. if the things they said to me were mostly bullshit that I would suffer for in the future, yet despite my being so brazenly sensitive I miss, I miss getting excited about a very simple thing, fuck I miss that little girl so damn curious and sociable , yes amazing I was sociable as a child I was so outgoing and yet now I’m the exact opposite aah how things change when you end up suffering from all the bullshit I grew up with.


Okay, maybe I’m still a little girl. I like to believe that age is just a number. I like to smile at people I don’t know early in the morning, when everyone’s shoes are wet with rain and their eyes are full of sleep, so that they too smile; I like to make funny faces at people while they are making a serious speech; I like to hug people when they don’t know I’m behind them to catch that moment of amazement in their eyes; I like to be silly, sometimes, to keep dark thoughts from eating me; I like to make noise and sing and laugh out loud and scream in order not to hear silence; I like to give unexpected gifts when there is nothing to celebrate; I like to live in my enchanted world where everything is special and people can love each other without doubts, shyness or distances and imagine that something will happen that will save my life; I like to feel light and see the eyes of people in love that shine. Okay, I will still be a child, but children know how to live and wonder and laugh and dream and they have courage to sell; adults don’t.
I can not take it anymore. I can’t take it any more than myself. I can’t stand myself and I want to get away but I don’t know how to do it. This fucking fear of never being enough who put it on me? I would really like to know to at least understand why he did it. Oh my God I am aware of being a disaster but at least I would like not to notice. I would like to be one of those who do not care about people, those who are not afraid to take risks and throw themselves without thinking about the consequences, I would like not to digress, as I am doing now and I would like not to need to vent here at this moment. I would like to know if this thing of making other people and myself feel bad and always ruining everything is a talent that I have always had or that I have cultivated without my knowledge over the years. I would like to know how those girls have a perfect life and I would like to finally be able to love. I would really like to try what love is, because it gives me the idea of ​​a feeling that if true can make you feel good for months or more. And I really need it.
Do you know what is there? There is that I am afraid. About what? What about, you ask me? Of everything! I’m afraid you’ll hurt me, like others have done, I am afraid of not being enough, too small, for example, but not only of age, because I honestly do not care about that, too small in the sense that you could have girls older than me, who would give you more, who could spend more time with you and whatnot … I am afraid of loving, because you are so calm and casual as if it has happened to you many times before but not to me, and this scares me. I’m afraid of getting bored, looking stupid and getting too attached I am afraid that you will not stand by me and that you will not stay. For all this, I ask you not to hurt me, to show me that I am enough, that you, the others, do not want them! I ask you to love me as you have never loved anyone, to become fond of us more than me and above all, please stay close to me and stay cabbage! I can sound stupid, I know. But I assure you that if you help me to overcome these fears, if you overcome them with me, I will be able to give you my heart.


Como un mar de seda Rojo fuego del otoño yo quemo Y protegidos del sueño dentro de mi se moverán Lentamente las llamas No se como controlar esta angustia criminal por vivir Hay algo mas grande que yo Es algo mas grande que yo. ¿Sabes que cuando el mundo te cae encima, estás aplastado y no puedes levantarte? Cuando los pulmones arden, los músculos tiemblan, pero ¿lo que sea que hagas se queda ahí abajo, aplastado? Levanté muchas capas por encima de mí, la más pesada de todas era mi padre. Sobre mí una historia que nunca podré contar porque un rostro sin rostro no se puede olvidar.
Estaba escrito, pero lo vi antes de que sucediera. Dicen que quienes sufren traumas de niños adquieren entonces extraños poderes. Vi lo que vendría de Oriente, les dije, pero nadie me creyó. No tienen destellos distantes. No tienen truenos ni sacudidas. Ni siquiera tienen la previsión de enviar algunas nubes negras primero para anunciar su llegada. De repente sientes el agua, espesa como una pared repentina, que envuelve los contornos de los edificios y se desliza sobre las curvas de los autos en la calle. Y se oyen los resoplidos desconsolados de los que se han olvidado del tendedero del balcón, de los que aún no han bajado al perro, de los que tendrán que trabajar todo el día al aire libre, de los albañiles que se refugian en la panadería. Y yo, que camino bajo esta continua caída de gotas heladas del tamaño de una almendra. Camino desprevenido y resignado, pero una sonrisa se abre levemente cuando noto las cosas habituales que siempre me han fascinado de la lluvia, pero tú tienes la tuya, ¿qué sentido tendría decirte la mía?
En 2013, el CSER, que es el Centro de Estudios de Riesgo Existencial, advirtió a la población mundial de los mayores riesgos para la humanidad. Esta asociación cuenta entre sus miembros a ilustres personalidades como Stephen Hawking, Jared Diamond y Robert May. El CSER había destacado 9 cuestiones críticas que podrían haber llevado a la extinción del hombre. El número aumenta drásticamente si se mira el propuesto por el Future of Humanity Institute de la Universidad de Oxford y la Global Challenges Foundation. También en este caso quiero destacar los peligros que podrían provocar una extinción masiva. En estos 12 puntos hablamos de los temas críticos más dispares. Partiendo de abajo encontramos: consecuencias desconocidas, colapso del sistema global, mala gobernanza local, guerra nuclear, nanotecnología, colapso ecológico, impacto de asteroides, biología sintética, cambio climático extremo, inteligencia artificial y supervolcán. Primero en la lista está la pandemia.


I like people who have a full life because they choose you to put you on top of everything, not to plug a hole. The subtle condemnation of alienating anyone, being permanently closed in one’s castles, not trying to help those I know near, not showing the love one feels for a person. Being cold is this, trying a thousand things inside, not wanting to externalize even one. Many people are so closed, unreachable, unpleasant. It’s like hitting a wall and being revived by yourself.
I have never denied my past, the experiences made, the wrong relationships, it will be why it burns me so much that he has canceled everything that connected him to me and these months together, as if what we had had never existed , as if I never existed. If forgetting me is as easy as deleting a handful of photos then I’m worth nothing, everything I’ve given of myself, what I’ve changed and tried to improve, everything I am is worth less than zero. And I miss him, pathologically, after what he has done and continues to do, I miss him and I wonder if he too misses me, but I know that I am like those deleted photos, I no longer exist.
There are days … …
in which anger runs up to the hands and breaks everything, from pencils to delays. …
where you would just like to hole up in a corner to watch the dark, but no, no you can. …
in which no one realizes that inside you are fixing the emotional traps to survive the next attack. …
where commitments stifle all the urge to scream. …
where not even a hug could put things right. …
in which you are looking for a fight, just to let off steam a little. … where you just hope it will come tomorrow,
because today is one of those days.


I didn’t think the bottom of hell was that bad. It is filled with fear, tears, despair, anger, resignation and time does not flow here. It slips through your fingers but every day is the same as the others; filled with suffering. Sometimes you get out of breath it hurts so much trying to survive. It is called hell for a reason and as much as you want to make it, you are helpless. Crushed and reduced to a small and insignificant voice in an unprecedented din. We might as well adapt anyway, I’ll stay here for quite a while …
I’m fine, but sometimes I break down and don’t notice. I’m fine, but sometimes my walls collapse and I realize I’m fragile. I’m fine, but sometimes I cry in front of a movie for too much love that I want and don’t have. I’m fine, but sometimes I don’t understand myself. I’m fine, but sometimes it still happens that I always hope too much and more than I should. I’m always fine, but sometimes I’m tired and my eyes shine less.
I have to get away from here, I want to leave everything behind. This place destroys my mind, “de-powers” me, oppresses me. It is enough for me to have a minimum of serenity to be a different, better, complete, determined person and I noticed it during my holiday in Amsterdam. I had good days there because I was in the artists’ quarter and I wish I was still one of them. But I’m not anymore. I have lost all my energy. Sadness takes over but I never break down, I always hope for something better for me but for my mom? Will there be anything better? My father died too soon. I do not know. I am a young girl but since I was a child I have had to listen to the problems of adults, the couple quarrels, to dry my mother’s tears. Hateful days of screaming. When I woke up in the morning I always saw only negative things but I repeat, I never gave up, always was positive and perhaps also thanks to all those problems that I got used to in a certain sense, after a while the problems became everyday life , one normal thing and one more or less problem did not change anything for you, problems that have passed a bit and unfortunately brought them with me a bit.
I can never sleep at night because I never want to dream. It destabilizes me to think of myself in other contexts, perhaps because I’m not ready to take flight. Yet I seem so very brave, so badass, sometimes bold. I love to laugh, I laugh at stupid things, and at the same time I love to make others laugh. It makes me feel good. And for every laugh I get, I hear a “hey, you’re making me laugh, thank you”. At night I throw up everything I keep inside during the day. For necessity? Out of fatigue? Or maybe because I’m just a person. People never know shit about me, and I can’t blame them. How could I? I never expose myself, and when I have a dark moment, I isolate myself. And it is not true that I feel a burden for others, on the contrary, I feel that I am a burden only for myself. And I’ve understood this since I started looking at myself in the mirror again. But what do the others know? How many disarming cries, how many fights lost or simply how many defeats at the start that I have collected? What do they know about how I lie shamelessly when I say I’m fine? That I say it so many times that now I believe it too. But despite that, I’m still here writing. Luckily, I dare to say. Because the day I stop doing it, it means that I will have found the method to stop outsourcing anything. And then my heart will explode. And I, in my heart, care. Because I think it’s the purest and most beautiful part of me. Despite being crumpled, despite being chipped, scratched, abused or just used too much.

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