Someone Like Me

Perhaps it would be convenient not to pretend to be prepared for what happens.

A single day in which we all feel free to admit that we do not understand anything, that we do not know what to do, that we have fears and anger.

Someone like me needs to find a why for everything.

Why? Well, because everyone is free to choose what ends up making them go crazy.

And because nothing has the obligation to be that good.

I was reunited with the demonstration that there are things that can no longer be healed and I thought that if I invented trips to the past, I would forget to return.

Apparently, we are never prepared for what we already know is going to happen. I'm not sure, but possibly that's where the real experience lies.

For someone like me, who wasted more opportunities than he deserved to have, realizing something is a relief. 

For someone like me, who knows of failed attempts, finding a purpose is a relief.

A momentary relief, almost ephemeral, but that with its promise of relief invites us to fail again, to write again.

 Because sometimes the motive is born with the text and, other times, the text is the motive.

There are things we cannot see, no matter how long we stay.