It’s the similarities, the ones that make everything seem different. It’s the eyes, the only ones who are willing to face reality. An unequal
reality, a contradicted destiny. That damned destiny who possesses intrepidity
and wickedness. It’s the dreams, the ones who proclaim her deepest desires. It’s the monster of a new sunrise, the one who paints everything in pink.
It’s that monster , the one who doesn't let the heart hide behind the bones. But it’s only her, the one who decides her destiny, the one who decides
if the frame hangs on the wall, or is taken down and stored with delicacy,
painting the wall green with her own hand.
It’s her ghosts, those that follow her down the street at eight in the
afternoon, the ones that tell her she’s making a mistake. The blurry figures
with distinguished expressions block the alley; they keep her facing the gloomy
vine that climbs up the somber wall. Those ghosts have names, November,
February, April and July… they surround her and accuse her for putting them
aside, keeping them in the back of the closet with the strawberry letters. She implores them, wishing to cut the cord that doesn't let her go up and
see what's on the other side of the bricks.
A familiar hand due to misfortunes
and luck sets the knife close to her, because scissors won’t be enough to rip
this tie. The girl hesitates and accepts it, her heart beating with
uncertainty. Every time the metal blade rips the fiber of the binding, she lets out a
breath as well as a tear. Her eyes cry, not due to sadness, but because the
rest of her being is finally starting to see reality with them.
On the other side of the wall, sunset waits for her, this time without remorse. He helps her pose her memories on grains of sand, the heaviest falling
to the bottom, so that water can store them in the beach of her life with care.It’s the feelings, the ones that proclaim their liberty. They help the
heart with scars take a step forward.