THE STORY OF THE OLD TOY

And so, as usual, the old toy, now useless, past, believed unable to surprise again, to entertain, is replaced again.
Not thrown away or left free to be the source of joy for anyone who wants.
No.
Left the corner.
A little out of affection, because after all they have been through a lot together, a little to have entertainment, however sincere in the event that the new toy breaks.
As already happened.
He watches and who knows what he's waiting for.
It was just laid there, the old man.
Think of the past years and the updates made, which in the end is not so obsolete, and strengthens itself.
He thinks that his only desire was to be the main source of joy.
Do you think that he would have been able, that he would have found the strength to become everything he needed.
Remember when it was like this.
He remembers when it was enough for him to look at him to make him smile.
He remembers when he was the one who had the place of honor in the bed, to bring affection and comfort in the dark of nights.
And he remembers the new little promises that were made to him, like the upcoming campground where it would take him.
Before the arrival of the new.
But not now.
Now it's in the corner.
Alone.
Forced to watch the scene.
Property.
In silence.

THE CAGE

I always keep myself so consistent with my words, too! As if my words were my thoughts, unique and immobile. It’s like saying things out loud, or writing them (to anyone), locks me in a cage. From that moment on, I can’t get rid of the terrible thought that by doing something that (even if only apparently) contradicts what I said, it makes me attackable, because I hate it, I mean being attacked, even if I knew how to defend myself, I avoid doing it, I don’t have I never stimulate him to do so, and so I let things slip away, I laugh, I always laugh. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve ever had a real laugh, but real seriously I mean! Laughing has become the alternative to everything: getting angry, screaming, talking, crying, and who knows how much else … The cage that I have now doesn’t let you see much light, it’s so thick and dark, ah, if at least it were colored! Instead it is black, very black. I am imprisoned with my words, which I have reserved for a few, but even those few should not have made me speak, because words do not bounce off certain people, but are absorbed by them, I cannot get this idea out of my head and tortures me. I don’t want to talk to anyone anymore, I don’t want to feel the need anymore, which is already a very small need, but I still often give in! If I really want freedom, I have to be alone with myself, I have to escape from anyone and anything, to find an isolated but beautiful place, all mine but nobody’s. And instead this miserable existence of mine will continue in the worst of the chessboards, and I will always be on the corner, ignored, but I will always feel in the center, derided and observed, unable to move, motionless and sad.

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