When it happened, I was not any part of it. I knew about it all, but I didn't have anything to do with it. Did it make me guilty? Was there anything to be guilty of? I honestly don't know anymore.
From the early years of my childhood, I knew I had an urge to be utterly perfect. To be outstanding, to be a shining star above all else. And guess what: I was good, I was really great, but never perfect.
That's the tragedy of my life. I'm not in search of the impossible, I know how far-fetched that dream is. But I wanted something to be proud of; something to be excellent at. And I never had it.
What was I saying? Huh, I can't even keep my mind together to write a few lines anymore. I used to be really good at it, though.
I fell like Icarus. Just before I touched the sun, right before I could feel its scorching heat, right before I could touch it. I fell so hard, but not to the earth. I fell into an ocean so deep I could never come out of.
It did feel strange at first.I knew nothing of the dangers waiting for me. I was out of place, I didn't fit in; but I hadn't died yet and so i had to make it work. I had to adjust, to adapt. I tried. To get to know what was unknown to me, to see the things I couldn't see before,fpr I was blinded by the eye of the heaven.
I looked almost as if I were a part of it, I smelled like seaweed, I swam like the small golden fish that I was. But it was all a big almost. A really big thing on my forehead telling me that I was a stranger everytime I looked in the mirror. A big brand of difference, of not understanding, and of not belonging in the depth.
I came from the height. I came from warmth, from love, and I had to dwell in the darkness for the rest of my life.
I persisted on putting everything behind me. On forgetting who I was before. It didn't work out; It never does.
So little by little, by the small waves and the broken pebbles, I guided myself near to the shore. I tried to go back and find fragments of who I used to be. They were lost in the cracks of the life I could never live.
