Disociada.

Dissociated

In this unfamiliar entryway, weathered by time, I recalled the whiteness of that village and let myself fall, the full weight of my weary temples pressing down. So many times I have visited myself in my yearning for death, and to my surprise, I have found it emerging on the path to life. And in that encounter, neither greeting nor disdain has been exchanged. Today I have decided to write you a letter while feeling a cold dampness on my skin, and I unearth from among my things a pencil stump, deformed by my teeth from the many times I have wielded it with the idea of ​​reaching you through writing. This voracious desire to return, to run to you and fill that desolate space I left behind when I departed, stings me. It is not the intention that has failed, but rather the search through those years and the inability to find the memory of my blood and your blood tracing the same path.

I have died a little each day carrying what doesn’t belong to me while you continue waiting for what belongs to you. It hurts to tell you it will never come. You will receive these cold words that say: «I take that breath of life with me into the unknown that dwells within me. « As I write to you, you rise like a ghost, your eyes fixed on my small, carelessly drawn scribbles, discovering that one day the desire to return throbbed within me. Year after year, I visit myself in my mind as if taking the pulse of your existence, and I only find there those red roofs that still remain in my memory like tears of absence and a cornering fear that urges me to flee before I awaken my dead.

Zasha, my soul no longer knows how to return to purity. «Contaminated» as I am with a turbulent history, there would be no recipient who could bear to take back this distorted version, full of fears and secrets that don’t belong to you. As I write, I’m afraid of disappearing, knowing you wouldn’t survive the encounter. I think of leaving you my shadow, imbued with all the times I thought of you, and what good is leaving you my longings if I don’t have the strength to return? I turn around, gather my swaying footsteps, and tell myself: If only there were a memory dwelling within me that invited me to seek you, it would push me to

to pass through me and find myself again in our lap.

Zasha, this letter is the only thing that binds me to you. It’s the chance to stop being a lost soul wandering aimlessly, with nothing new to say but old grudges and a thousand unfulfilled promises to return… It’s the firm proof of my existence. I’m leaving, Zash, even though I’ve never truly arrived. Only my words have gone ahead, making room for an unexpected return. In the meantime, I’ll keep imagining and testing the waters, hoping you’ll be the one to take my pulse and consider if there’s still room for me to live within you.

Zash