Ask me about the weather. “It’s fine”, I’ll say. Perhaps I won’t tell you how the sun breaks through my window in a thin line between the curtains that I always forget to close properly. I won't tell you how that first ray of light in the morning hits me and cuts through my skin. And don’t get me wrong, I can still feel the heat of summer and marvel at the purple’s palette in the sky, right after the sunset. Ask me about the weather. “It’s getting a bit colder”, I’ll say. I may want to tell you about the trees. The new sounds they’re making because of the wind and how I want those sounds to be louder. Louder enough to silence the thoughts in my mind, the stares of frightened people inside their houses. Ask me about the weather. I’ll say some days are sunnier than the others. I may even tell you summer is lasting longer. But ants know better. I’m watching them on my window frame, picking up food, getting ready for ...
Yesterday I read a post called “10 things rapists look for” and something caught my eye: “If you’re being attacked, yell: fire!. It’s more likely to get a reaction from people around you if you say this than screaming for help”. Wait, are we…“there”? Is our society really that cold-hearted that when someone’s in danger, now they also have to think the best way to ask for help? Is that how we get people’s attention? yelling something others find really dangerous for themselves, like a fire? Because, otherwise, it’s way too risky to help? Is that selfish? or maybe it’s just how the human brain works and a common reaction? By this time I was too shocked to think clearly and could only imagine me flying up to the sky, to see the whole city from up above. Tiny houses, streets getting thinner as I kept rising. And just like a GPS app, thousands of warning pop-ups saying: Fire! Fire! Fire! Considering my country is in third place on rape statistics and violence against women. Where 76...
Ver señales por todos lados, pero no saber qué intentan decirte. esperar lo peor y estar en lo cierto. una carta de despedida que llegó en el inicio de un viaje. salir y sentirte fuera de lugar, robada, partida. llorar. verte al espejo y sentirte extraña. tratar de reencontrarte y no saber por dónde empezar. cuestionarte si es la manera correcta de procesarlo o siquiera si es posible procesarlo. repetirte las frases de aliento casi casi hasta creértelas. estar acompañada pero sentirte absolutamente sola e incomprendida. querer hablar del tema con detalles, repetirlo. repetirlo sin llorar y escucharte. 56 días: un corazón y un infinito.
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