Soy milk
I just finished the call with my friend, with whom I am working on exploring her emotions and their effect on me. I am completely overwhelmed and struggling to control what I feel.
I start walking toward the bathroom. I stop. I look around. It’s time for lunch. I should go to the kitchen and prepare something to eat. In the last few days, when I’ve had lunch, I’ve started experiencing severe intestinal pain. I don’t think I could digest what I ate. I think I might not eat at all. I could avoid it. But I feel very weak. I need to try to eat something.
Far from the stars, far from everything
In the darkness, I drive fast on old mountain roads. The forest around us fades behind rusty guardrails. The last towns are far behind us, just small lights like stars above our heads.
Silence fills the night with its noise, mixed with the sound of a cicada that hasn’t noticed the evening passing. The air outside the window is cool and lightly brushes between my fingers.
A star of light
They say. They say that architects are original. I drive in the evening darkness. Orange lights illuminate the road. In the distance, the sky is still sunset. But the darkness is already immersing my car into the night. I drive and think back to architects. Original. I don't know if all of them are. Perhaps only some. Maybe just the one who designed the dentist's office. Rust-colored electric gate. A few steps illuminated by lowlights. The house is surrounded by wooden strips. Inside, small glass spaces. Some visible. Some hidden, polished. I walk.
Do what makes you happy
Today I went to lunch with friends. I had calculated a series of problems I might encounter. I knew I had to hide behind an image of myself that they have. An image that doesn’t correspond to my present. Something I’m used to.
I had forgotten that during my last attempts to enjoy moments with a group of people, I had felt unwell. When I arrived, I started talking and playing with my friends' children as I would have normally done years ago.
Just hate
Yesterday I had a call with a friend. What bothers me is the strong influence she has on me. It annoys me to hear from her without needing to call or message her. It bothers me the suffering I feel because of her presence. The emotions she manages to transmit to me. The constant feeling of hitting against something that doesn’t come out.
Now I am here. I am motionless because I feel her stillness.
Gold nails
I write immersed in the smell of urine. I often write in the bathroom. Hidden. Often at night. In the upstairs bathroom. The small one. The sound of the keys hitting the walls. Tum tum tum.
A few days ago, I saw a cashier. She had painted nails. The pinky was blue and the thumb was gold. The other nails faded and created something between blue and gold. I don’t know if they were designs. But the gold nail was very beautiful. Shiny. While I was throwing the roast and potatoes into the bag, I didn’t know if I should ask her to let me look better.