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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