You should know some things about me. Should I confess so many things to you about myself, but I just don’t know how and where to start. I fear your reaction, as I fear all reactions that have something to do about me, about my deep inside. You look at me, and I’m speechless. I don’t know what to tell you. I feel empty. How do you dare to tell me who I am? What the hell do you know about me?
I tell you what is that: NOTHING.
I dance in my underwear in front of the mirror. I sing under the water of the shower. I get up fifteen minutes after my alarm goes off. I drink three coffees a day. I always have time to read. I make up dialogues and scenes in my head, and many times I can’t tell the difference between reality and imagination. My mind loves jumping from here to there, that’s why you get lost when I change the subject unexpectedly. I cook when I need it, just as I write when I need it. I nod and smile stupidly when I don’t know what to say or when I don’t wanna say what I’m thinking. I imagine myself living other lives, that’s why I can be so many different things in a single day. I toss myself off once a week, when I’m thinking of you.
You make me feel sick. That’s what I should have told you so long ago.
Relief.
