THE ROOM OF MEMORIES

I have seen hands get lost as the hours go by and eyes laugh before bringing smiles to the lips. I find it hard to talk about beautiful things sometimes because the heart keeps them jealous for itself and doesn’t leave me many adjectives. However, I thought about how certain encounters manage to fit together well and give relief, hope and even happiness. what a kindred soul can give in a disinterested way, as if it were natural. good generates well and for a moment, while I was putting the keys in the door, realizing that my eyes were shining, I thought of bean seedlings, the way they cling to a support to climb upwards. yesterday something in me did the same, finding the way to take a step. even if only for one evening and never again, thank you for this gift. I will keep it as the most tender of memories. I gave up many times without saying it out loud, always paying with pieces of soul. and this is because every time you let go, that you let go, that you simply don’t react, it withers. And to regenerate then you need nourishment, you need to get away from that which “dries up”, that does not “cure” you, that wants to have you around only for a while and only when you are “healthy” and beautiful. I learned to count when I started sorting.
There was a moment in my life when I felt invincible, when I thought I could do anything, but most of all I had the determination to do it. Now in front of me there are only cardboard walls and a post apocalyptic scenario. It is as if I were in the desert as always, but without looking for water wells that can keep me going, I am letting myself die without really seeking death, not even suicide interests me anymore. I try to retrace the steps trying to understand what happened, what went wrong, but no answer, only memories that melt in my fingers, only thoughts that fly away, that I can’t stop. They are a field of good intentions planted like flowers and as such withered, there is no more salvation, I cannot find it even in the people who were for me an escape route, an escape from my pain. My words feel the discomfort that I carry inside and come to the surface, they take me by the hand, caress my face and tell me: “We are there for you.” I don’t answer, it wouldn’t make sense, they know how much I love them, how much they are my whole existence, after all, it’s true, they always pulled me out of the quicksand of life. It’s beautiful when I don’t have to chase them, they are beautiful when they tell and draw in their heads unknown settings and new legendary places.
Limited as we can feel so many emotions, it is really absurd, inconceivable, I hate it when I can’t give an explanation to the things that happen, but I can never do it so I stand still, with my eyes fixed on the void, the tense muscles and the storm in the soul. At fourteen I started writing a book that he never managed to finish, my usual flaw, I start the fifth and end up in the back. I called it “storms of the heart” I think about it often and I think it would have worked if only I had finished it. limited as we can feel so many emotions, it is really absurd, inconceivable, I hate it when I can’t give an explanation to the things that happen, but I can never do it so I stand still, with my eyes fixed on the void, the tense muscles and the storm in the soul. At fourteen I started writing a book that he never managed to finish, my usual flaw, I start the fifth and end up in the back. I called it “storms of the heart” I think about it often and I think it would have worked if only I had finished it.
My existence is dripping with particular periods that I never explain because I hate talking about myself with those around me, I don’t like to expose myself, I don’t want them to know where to strike, I would give them a too strong weapon, capable of destroying me, they are already been hurt too many times. These are just the thoughts of a girl who will never find her place in the world, who will never be fully understood. These are the thoughts of a girl with red lips and black hair, with a dull spirit who, however, has shone in the past. These are the words of this girl who has death in her heart and darkness located between the folds of her soul, who hides in her lyrics the desperation of a battered and wounded, disillusioned and torn heart. This is the blog of the one who has the meaning of her name “daughter of the sea” even if she is afraid of the sea.
This young girl that I was couldn’t go underwater. This girl started swimming 5 years ago and she loved swimming so much that she became a swimmer. This is the soul of a girl who is like a piano, who has too many doubts already in the name, which was drawn by a drugged angel who at that moment felt in the mood to play a joke. That joke is me, that joke is here and now it’s slowly dying. Sometimes I don’t understand myself, you know? I aspire to perfection but most of the time I’m satisfied with normality, I’m not talking about school income or being a good son who goes to church on Sunday, I speak temperamentally, the main problem is that I’m fucking “sensitive and fragile” I hate being it, because then anyone who observes you will say “here’s another one to save, here’s another too good in a world too bad” sometimes I would like to be strong, strong for anyone, I would like people to look at me and say “damn nobody knocks that down” I don’t understand Why do I have this constant need to cling to someone’s pain, to feel loved, perhaps not to feel mine? maybe just to distract me? most of the time I am paranoid, I analyze everything, a sentence written quickly, a forgotten comma, an accent not put that changes the meaning of the sentence, and I go into paranoia … fuck I’m really sick, it’s normal for people to move away then, initially it will be sweet to be next to someone who needs to be reassured and pampered, but after a while it becomes just a habit, you get tired and with your heart in tears you walk away, I feel like the defective toy that all children leave for last, that toy that is left behind in the basket because it doesn’t work so much, these paranoia this fragility is only the cause of past events, yet when I try to say it nobody believes me for the others I am a “problematic” nobody stops to listen to what you have to say, nobody will understand you my people , no one has experienced your pain, every pain is modeled in our heart based on your character and your strength, there are those who let themselves be devoured and there are those who believe that they will be saved but that in truth they will ta already making it pulp.
I want to tell her I don’t want to bother her, I don’t want her to go away, so I keep everything inside and believe me it’s not easy at all because the words would like to explode from my mouth the tears would want to pour from my eyes but then I think I have to stop being so paranoid I think that I have already been through the worst that this life could offer me, but I am regularly contradicted and life offers me a mix of brand new pain and paranoia, all this for what? I want to tell her I don’t want to bother her, I don’t want her to go away, so I keep everything inside and believe me it’s not easy at all because the words would like to explode from my mouth the tears would want to pour from my eyes but then I think I have to stop being so paranoid I think that I have already been through the worst that this life could offer me, but I am regularly contradicted and life offers me a mix of brand new pain and paranoia, all this for what?
for what purpose ? simple fear of talking, simple fear of not being enough, I am afraid that there is no place for sentimentality and passion in a world now made up of a ladder, where everyone follows a task and we all play a part, play a life and sometimes even play a love, but how can you pretend to love? tell me please, am I the only one waiting to say I love you so as not to spoil its meaning? Do I only value eyes that look at you? only my heart and mind go crazy dreaming of a beautiful life when i’m in my girlfriend’s arms? I wish I could be enough to be able to no longer be paranoid to know how to love without obsessing, I wish I wasn’t me, I wish I wasn’t so damned caught up in events and emotions.

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