Sometimes it is so difficult to get the dense and complex cloud of thoughts out of here.
There are days when these thoughts are the best in the world. I want to run, look at the sky, see how clouds streak across the blue immensity and have the feeling that freedom lives right there, within reach of my eyes.
There are days when I wish these thoughts were a sheet of paper, that I could crumple them up and throw them away. I could shape them and make them become an airplane that will take me away.
I wanted to adjust the volume that always changes. The volume that always says to stop, which blocks me from seeing the vastness of the sky, and the walking of the clouds with great admiration.
How many times have I wondered if what I see reflected in years of age out there is a real representation of who I am? I know who I am?
Did I distort what I am? At the point of convergence between what I want to become and what I was, I exist.
I want to run free like the clouds outside, without the false sense of freedom that keeps me from following the conveniences of everyday life.
I close my eyes, tears are dropping, the wind cutting my face — but it feels good — and right now, I feel like not even the universe is big enough for me.
But sometimes, it is as if all the clouds close, they close and push me down, they make me fit inside the smallest box that exists. There every heartbeat, every breath, every thought is insistent, I feel it throbbing. I wanted to be someone else, I wanted to destroy the person I see reflected in the mirror — if she even exists. She is my greatest enemy, she is on the way and prevents me from seeing the light dance of the clouds towards the sun.
She wants to destroy me, I want to destroy her.
I wanted to run away but, without leaving where I am, I want to run from me.
