Apps. Microsoft Word. One click and it opens. All black, I could say as deep as a hole in the middle of nowhere. What's there? Well, me and my ruminations. There's me, yes, that stranger... on an empty, thirsty page, where it folds my desire to find myself as I have done so many times before in my life. But this... this is different. I knew it from the first day, from the first word.
Oh, God, it burned so sweetly. It was like my body was in another body and it felt real. Everything so obvious and real, I repeat, real. Maybe it was just my mind. I wondered a lot if I was dreaming. And I still do. I feel like I'm walking a tightrope of sanity. It's been that way since the first glass broke. I also wondered if it was a punishment, if it was just another drama, one of those twists and turns that are imposed on us by this fucking life so that we hit rock bottom and can then propel ourselves upwards once more. So many things came to my mind... What if I stayed there, stuck, without courage or faith, swallowing and swallowing all the impurity of my blood? Would someone come to get me out? I don't think so. No. Because that's not the game, and going against it breaks the thread. Or I don't know. Does it break?
Sometimes I feel that it does, that it can break beyond repair, and then the unbelievable happens. I say they are signs... or madness, I don't even know. Something in my street, in front of my house, that seems to have been taken from another world. As if an angel had placed it there. A woman, with whom I sometimes share my coffee in the mornings, brings it to me, puts it in my hand and exclaims: ‘Look, Anita, this isn't from here, where did this come from? Keep it!’
Oh God, to whom can I say what I think without sounding crazy? To myself, while I scrub my dishes and cook some meatballs, to the beings of light who accompany me every day and even give me lessons on how to sunbathe...
Today I read a girl who was very sure that we will survive whatever may come. And I know that. I know it because that's what I am, a survivor.
I smile. I am smiling in that picture, in the other picture, next to my grandmother who is already 93 years old and who talks to me with a little girl's face. I am there, smiling, but the darkest night was my blanket and my body is being moulded with tears and sweat.
I have used random photos to illustrate this text, and I would like to participate with them in the #Monomad Challenge.
Palabras en mi piel
Aplicaciones. Microsoft Word. Un click y se abre. Todo negro, podría decir que tan hondo como un hueco en medio de la nada. ¿Qué hay allí? Pues yo y mis rumias. Estoy yo, sí, esa extraña… en una página vacía y sedienta, donde se pliega mi deseo de encontrarme como ya lo hice muchas veces a lo largo de mi vida. Pero esto… esto es diferente. Lo supe desde el primer día, desde la primera palabra.
Oh, Dios, quemaba con tanta dulzura. Era como si mi cuerpo estuviera en otro cuerpo y se sentía real. Todo tan obvio y real, repito, real. Quizás era solo mi mente. Me pregunté mucho si estaba soñando. Y todavía lo hago. Siento que camino por la cuerda floja de la cordura. Ha sido así desde que se quebró el primer cristal. También me pregunté si era un castigo, si se trataba de un drama más, de esas tornas de que nos impone la puta vida para que toquemos fondo y podamos entonces impulsarnos una vez más hacia arriba. Tantas cosas vinieron a mi mente… ¿Y si me quedaba allí, atascada, sin ánimo ni fe, tragando y tragando toda la impureza de mi sangre? ¿Vendría alguien a sacarme? No lo creo. No. Porque ese no es el juego, e ir en contra hace que se rompa el hilo. O no sé. ¿Se rompe?
A veces siento que sí, que puede romperse sin remedio, y entonces pasa lo increíble. Digo yo que son señales… o locura, ya ni sé. Algo en mi calle, frente a mi casa, que parece extraído de otro mundo. Como si un ángel lo hubiese colocado allí. Una mujer, con quien comparto a veces mi café en las mañanas, me lo alcanza, lo pone en mi mano y exclama: ¡Mira Anita esto no es de aquí, de dónde habrá salido esto! ¡Quédatelo! Oh, Dios, ¿a quién puedo decir lo que creo sin sonar loca? A mí misma, mientras friego mis platos y cocino unas albóndigas, a los seres de luz que me acompañan a diario y me dan lecciones hasta de cómo tomar el sol…
Hoy leí a una chica muy segura de que sobreviviremos a cualquier cosa, a todo lo que pueda venir. Y lo sé. Lo sé porque soy eso, una sobreviviente.
Sonrío. Estoy sonriendo en esa foto, en la otra foto, junto a mi abuela que ya tiene 93 años y me habla con una carita de niña. Estoy allí, sonriendo, pero la noche más oscura fue mi manto y mi cuerpo está siendo moldeado con lágrimas y sudor.
Original content by @nanixxx. All rights reserved ©, 2024.
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Getting closer to the 200k upvotes. Awesome job @nanixxx 👍
😄
A friend once told me, listen to your inner child, every now and then she talks to you and take her case.... sometimes she just wants to be a child. Hug!🤗
Yes, a very playful one hahaha.... thank you Amonet.
A vos!!!😃
When I see your black and white photos my mind goes back to when we only knew those two colors, then more reds, greens, blues etc appear in the photos and our eyes light up at the beauty. But when we look for happy memories of our life in the past those two colors that you so aptly recreate reappear and they are as beautiful as the colored ones. You who invoke the universe so much and read the Tarot perhaps you will find the answer to such an apparition. I still agree with the lady (Ukrainian) who took care of my hostel in Kiev and when you were born she wanted to see you and congratulate me. And she said thus: Anita, your daughter was born with one letter too many " I love you.❤️❤️❤️
Thank you Mamani. And you have such patience with me... hahaha..... kisses.
♥️♥️♥️
🙃
Always grateful, friends!
This is so beautifully written, and followed by these very nuanced and on-point frames. Like an inner monologue whispering itself out.
Thank you so much. We're always monologuing, you see?... and often in a loop.
Indeed... And our hearts and digestive systems thank us very much for that 🫠
I was moved by the word survivor, I am moved because I am also a survivor. I listen to the signs... and I'm not crazy. It's time to listen and live...that's how I feel.
Big hug @nanixxx.
🤗
Gracias.
A ti, a ti, a ti. 😉
😀
Hi! Very grateful for your support, @brumest and Qurator Team. 🌟
😊 Thank you!