Sometimes, when I really need to, I revisit my old self. Both my presence today and then show impact. But, are you able to decipher which one I am proudest of?
Dear reader,
I was supposed to be an operative woman. But for a quiet moment here and there, I realize I may not need to succeed in the expectations I place on myself.
I hate not being mobilized, it’s ruining my life.
Time and memory have never been so greatly belittled. I needed my logic to support my reasoning, I needed my pride to standardize my life. I chose to ignore my fears- to send my beliefs back to where they are sent.
Who’s going to laugh at my accomplishments if not me?
Who will come to my side when I deteriorate in my thoughts?- nobody if not me.
Who’s going to manipulate my faith, stiffen my ability, humanize my fears if not me?
I have made indecent exposures, dangerous exclamations, voiced the unspoken sadness. I have broken the light of the girl you have heard great things about- and my spirit goes down with it.
I rather have self-imploded, had discolored the premise of my greatest joys, self destroyed every memory I have bathed under the warm sun than to have lost ones that have caused me the greatest tragedy.
Have I been gifted the prize of validity for the exchange of my senses?
Golden daughter as my tasks relate. I was chaos, I was impeccability. My love was white light, an astray soliloquy. You don't have to communicate with me- I promise it’s just my pride, derived from choice.
I am what has brought my enemies closer, and when I come to be her again I’ll know who my first direct will be for.
Negative influence is one imaginary high. I’m borderline, sunken deep in my villain’s gauge.
They are a paradox and a safe haven for my sins- not a relation of my bad thoughts. The time worth midnight and age reserved midteen- the best resolve for my every misery. Your fictitious disposition and my ever gentle movement have met a confronting scandal.
I was kind until everything made me mean. You don’t get to tell me you didn’t mean to hurt me- you wouldn’t survive an hour in which you painted me. But who’s going to stop you from repainting the situation- you know the steps anyway.
I have reconstructed my greatest book- my only possessed story, the only aura ever praised. You and I were never momentary- never buried. My biggest loss is living inside me. You and I never once talked- never before and never since. I allowed my sacred roaring to tremble for the one I have possessed the most intolerance. I can’t imagine how I almost had it all- I was necessary.
Thanks for spending part of your day with me. See you next week. -Ana
Editor: Ana Lema
Writer: Ana Lema
Connect with me through my email anacarolinalema@gmail.com
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