I remember hiding under my bed. It was dusty and I couldn’t move. I would breathe slowly and try to look for forgotten objects there.
I used to have crystal clear eyes.
Now my sight is divided between myself, someone I wish to be and someone I try to leave behind.
I used to listen obsessively to her song. And watch how she would dance and cry for help.
Oh, come child.
One road leads to the desert. It leads back home, to the land of unexpressed sexuality and unexpected hugs from the people who are taller and stronger than you, and you’re hiding behind their legs.
One road leads to the sea.
I was never afraid of water.
I was always afraid of the pedestals people put me on.
It always ended with be jumping off them.
I am thirsty.
I turn my back and I see the desert.
On the road there’s a child with long legs that tremble.
Cars pass in indifference and the child keeps on smiling and trembling.
There are tears in her eyes.
There’s no room for clarity anymore.
That full and absolute and overwhelming clarity.
Maybe I do not need to be rescued.
Maybe the child needs to be shown that there’s nothing wrong with having diamons eyes.