mopeliju

[mopeliju]

I wanted to write something.

June, 29th of April, 2024.

I wanted to write something. To share with the pages the weight my heart's been supporting. I didn't know how. I felt choked with words and feelings. They were all jammed on my throath. I wondered what would cost me more: the effort to take them out or the straining to keep on breathing despite them. The only thing I knew for certain was that I was tired.

Exhaustion was a state of being. Something you'd go through and then overcome it. However, I've been in such a state for so long, I had become it. It was an ever present part of who I was.

I was killing myself. Passively but still. I lacked the strenght necessary to live, to break free, to save myself.

I had taken very few decisions and I regretted those. Mostly though, I regretted my indecisions. My inertia. All the time lost...

I didn't know peace. Externally, internally: it did not matter. I lived more than half of my life in a state of constant torment and all I wanted was a little reprieve. A moment of non-existence, outside of the shackles of time, where I could finally catch my breath.

More than most things, I longed for my grandmother's lap and grandpa's arms. For one wound managed to escape from time's iron grip and it would never heal: a saudade de casa.