Drama queen pt. 2820129

Tuve un fin de semana de redención. Así lo sentí, así era. Domingo y lunes fueron espacios de paz absoluta, esa que sólo se puede apreciar cuando llega después de épocas turbulentas de gran miseria.

Inicié el día sonriendo. Esperanzado ante nuevas oportunidades. Montones de trabajo increíble, motivador. Un poco de dinero sobrante para gastar en libros y música. Encontrar la paz con las decisiones previas y sentir por primera vez en meses que uno está bien por sí mismo, por el simple hecho de ser como uno es y hacer lo que uno hace.

Pero quizás realmente soy Yankel ya. Quizás todo lo que he pasado me persigue. Quizás no podré jamás entender. Quizás esos lapsos en los que hay silencios entre canción y canción, la sensación de vacío que siento es causado por una lejana voz que susurra un "I had to do it for myself". Quizás jamás encontraré verdadera felicidad y tendré que vivir y soñar y contar y olvidar a través de mentiras que por un instante hagan parecer que existió algo memorable en algo que jamás lo fue, muriendo solo, con un último triste deseo en un papel mal escrito y que fácilmente se perderá.

He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.

Quizás ya lo hago y ni siquiera me he dado cuenta. Después de todo, tú nunca dejas tu zona de comfort, ni siquiera cuando la dejas.

 That's it for now. Hope you find it.