Volatile

I laugh writing our letters, I feel lost and dizzy, as if my feelings are sunken in the lost sweetness of a glass of milk, as if the ink from my pen was lost among trees of emptiness, as if all vanishes in a sea of thoughts.

I think I’m the only one that thinks backwards, think and then write or speak; I put my words in my mind before releasing them into reality, before reality misrepresents the meaning of my words and make them bitter.

In a dry bottle in a bottle I whisper my secret, my problem that only I should know, I filled the bottle with a lemon and a touch of sugar, I fill the bottle with hope, hope that my problem is trapped inside the prison of fragile glass that surrounds it. When my mind and I don’t need it I hope it vanishes, in my house, I put this secret on a shelf in my basement.

I sit innocently on the ledge of my roof, to feel the wind flowing, to carelessly wait for the wind to make me feel alive, I feel as if I sat on a plane and we were flying through the cotton clouds and the volatile wind; we began to go down and down, to get away from heaven and closer to the earth, the flowers of the field, the plane lets go from me and I roll down the flowered field, I feel no pain, I feel hot, I feel like rolling over cotton.

I take the camera hanging from my neck and take pictures from the roof of my city, my park, the tiles of the park, the people of the city, I take a picture of me with the cobalt sky as my background, a picture of my powdered smile in the pages of yesterday, not the best smile, but the only one I have and it serves to smile.

My sadness I is enclosed in a bottle, encased in a shattered fortress, enclosed with lemon and sugar, impalpably it is locked, put on that ledge dirty and dark, where it belongs, with the pink bottle of my problems.

The plastic rays from the artificial sun lighten me and my city, my camera is tired, my eyes falls asleep, my heart shrinks, my soul cries, I feel I’ve forgotten something, right, my sadness, I go to my basement and take the bottle, get on my roof again, take the cork out, I separated it from my bottle and watched the sadness becomes volatile..

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