She knew herself some great actresses that roamed in rooms full of mirrors. How important it is not to be happy, but to seem happy, to always have a laugh to echo other’s pains, to be superior, better, more this, more that. How great it is to always have plans for life, not thinking much but doing loads. “What is the point of it”, she questioned, with an abrupt reality weighting upon her shoulders. How heavy she felt to think of those things, of those samples of human life! She was never like them. If she could have been proud of one thing, it would have been being conscious enough to identify a liar when she feels like one. It was major in her purpose to know herself deeply, and all these hide and seek plays kept her from doing what she felt she needed to do. “It is rather essential to have an ambition”, she concluded, “and how am I supposed to follow mine if I have to seem robotically figured out in the meantime?”. It made her angry to think of this unfairness. She could not cope with this stupidity human fear invented to keep people’s egos intact. She soon realized the importance of self-love, but she still couldn’t adore herself, since she had not discovered who herself surely was. And that was the ultimate quest, wasn’t it? To figure out who she was.
Mother, what have we done to each other?
When did we stop kissing goodnight?
My sheets have gone troubled and I wish to know why.
And when did we decide that beds are only made for one?
Solitude is only bliss when optional
Mother, how have we turned so bitter?
Where did we bury our rainy days?
And the perky roses we drew? Where are they?
Are they in a different garden now, Mother?
Because I miss their smell,
The baked flavor of naivety is growing in my mouth
And I crave for it every little second.
Mother, I am puzzled and oblivious.
I cannot remember where I left the easiness of life.
Is it on the top shelf? Under the bed?
It is driving me insane.
How am I supposed to leave the house without it, Mother?
It is not sweet and tender anymore outside.
It’s rough against my skin and I wish I could get it off.
I wish someone would get it off.
Did I do this to ourselves?
Did I do this to myself?
Father, whose fault is it?
This is a never-ending riddle
And I am cruel enough to solve it
As if the blame would release me from myself.
Where are the electric blue lights crawling on the walls, Father?
And the harmony of singing and the guitar calming us down
I miss it
I miss the taste of melted chocolate in my tongue
The smell of beer in yours
And the salty tears that went by
With no fear
No blame and no charades.
Father, I feel I am going mad.
I keep looking at the dining table and the empty space struggles my breathing.
Isn’t someone missing?
There used to be an extra plate, an extra glass
An extra everything.
Where are you, Brother?
Where did you go?
I recall having you here all the time
You disappeared in a flash of mist and watered eyes
And you left games to play.
Am I supposed to finish them all by myself, Brother?
I don’t mind if you get to win.
But can you stay?
I do not want to play hide and seek.
There are tents to make
Skates to ride
Songs to listen to
And a sister to talk to.
I can’t do it all by myself, Brother,
And everyone keeps telling me I have to.
I do not want to.
I do not need to.
Is this getting any harsher?
I can’t take it anymore.
You used to wipe this off of my face, Father,
And lift me up
And put me to sleep.
I do not want to be brave
I do not want to be grown
I want to be part of the furniture
And stay here as a table or a lamp
Forever doomed to your sighs and caring eyes
And not complain at all.
I want Mother to shout at me when I have a messy room
And I want Brother to be mad when I am the first to enter the shower.
And I want you, Father, to warn me about life
To tell what is and what is not
And to guide me through it all
Until I am finally prepared to stop asking questions
And start answering them.
But if you let me, I wanted to ask you one last thing.
Where am I, Father?
Where are we?