Will these words do any good? I repeat it, I assure it, and it is not because they are the last thing I have left but because I need to get used to the idea; to open my eyes is of some use or better to remain stranded, lost in the immobility, I am hardly getting used little by little to sense the future and again the circumstance overwhelms me with its lethargy, and not even suddenly as I have seen that it tortures most of us; it advances rather with a subtlety that is gaining strength with each instant until it becomes that veil that covers my existence, then it disappears with that intermittent pretension and when it leaves I do not know if I suffer because I miss feeling bad or because I do not know how to live moving forward; irony reigns my being, the one that saves me and sinks me but that never lets me rest in the middle terms, laughter and pain. I write these words because I still believe that you are close, just a ring away, I do not fight against that idea although deep down I know that you will never come back, we must learn to shape the feeling I was talking about and today I want to recreate your body, your voice, your breathing when I sleep until your absence is sharp, until I am unable to lie to myself, until I reach the true depths, realizing that I have a life without you.... All this time and effort dedicated to destroy me and yet it is easier and easier to keep moving forward, I feed my two sides together to ensure that I will take the next step, I think that maybe in the end you have to walk until there is nothing left of yourself, until you become the path, let the beast and the man kill each other.
Photographers: ourutopia
A salaried guy who seeks to be the globetrotting, disheveled, carefree and transgressor writer he always was, who seeks to find his destiny by shipwrecking himself in the most puerile and grotesque bureaucracy.