I wasn't but I had been

I didn't believe in backstabbing, until I became the knife. I never though I was broken, until one of the jagged pieces left a mark on my skin. I though the wall was a simple wood fence, not three meters of cement.

I thought incertitude wasn't by side, but that it had gotten the train to the other side of the lake. But no, it was still next to me. It came one morning and dissolved in my coffee, confusing my feeling and disorganizing my priorities. It kept me from changing signals or paths. It became by biggest enemy, at the same time as my excuse. The soaked coffee now doesn't taste like shared promises and movie nights between the darkness, but like the cold that gathers in my hands when there's no sun and evenings laying on the floor trying to find a concrete answer.

I didn't believe in ghosts, until they found shelter under my pillow and didn't let me sleep with my eyes closed. I never thought pictures could hurt so much, until one of the corners from my favorite photograph folded. and I cried on it.

May 25th

I woke up next to the moon and listened to the songs of the night. My feet jumped from the bed at two in the morning and my body let itself be dragged by insomnia. I went to the terrace with a pen in hand and in the leaves painted by the rain I inscribed my tale. I smiled while the words were being tattooed on the branches, conveying the end of a beginning. I pulled an all-nighter between candles that blew out when my mind was lit.

The sun came in through my window at eight and my heart started to beat with anticipation. The flavor of the tea was mixed with memories dissolved in confusion between reality and imagination. I sat down on the morning cloud, who let me stay in their paradise until it started to rain. It rained kisses, laughs, hellos, congratulations, catastrophes and bumps. It rained until I was soaked in happiness, but it only rained on one side of the screen.

Between sweet and sour, I went back to the routine. I tried to get into the water but I froze before feeling the lake at my feet. The cold of the waves went up to my chest, where it stayed until spring's wind took sweep it away. When the cold left, there came a heat that I thought would never appear by my side. This heat suffocated me until it drained me and it clothed me until I feel asleep with its lullabies.

I woke up next to a star, who lifted me up from my nostalgia and led me towards the future. Together, we laughed in the grass and contemplated how quickly things change from one moon to another.

The option isn't gray

I can't bring myself to do it, I know whatever happens it will end up being a mistake, yet I don't turn my back on it completely.

It's all in my head, all the regret of actions that haven't taken place still. Why the heck should I have to spend my nights curled up in a ball of unknowing? Where in the world am I supposed to go if any direction I take will be the wrong one?

I guess you could say it's as simple as black or white. But black cloaks me once you swarm in it, its capacity to feel empty will be transferred to my mind, it won't let me feel anything else. And white is blinding, it's colorless light is stinging, made up of feelings of remorse. It's not that easy.