EXISTENCE IN SOLITUDE

Every day is routine, instinct. There is a point in isolation in which one cannot distinguish matter from the walls, nor confirm their existence.

No matter the reason, here I am, in solitude. The only perception of the passing of time has become personal evolution, yet, we don’t change the being, we just stop hiding it.

Labeling oneself loses total sense when not having souls around. No matter how much I want to speak to or ignore someone, this is impossible without the element in question. Even a word loses meaning without knowing its context, we choose between diverse definitions established by the printing of the letter, and we hide feelings between lies and metaphors that are coded to the situation of the moment. This is how the definition of being twists and crumbles. How would I know my state without being able to refer to the rest? What is my context in solitude?

The normalization of my feelings is unknown upon only one testing subject; in singularity there is no statistic. Without having to dedicate a poem to, or who to sing a song to, the only sentiment possible in isolation is solitude. Is it possible to drive yourself insane? Yet, therefore, eternal loneliness does not know itself.

What makes us unique, and special? Is it our differences from the rest? If we lose contact, do we lose identity? And if we lose identity, do we lose being?

The existence of a being becomes a paradox when one lives in isolation. Among the microscopic analysis of the repressed is the song of reality itself. What makes us act the way we do are our thoughts as a result of experiences, but if you live in eternal solitude you live without becoming. There is no personal reality without experience, only existence without being, a body without a soul.

How do I know that what I live exists if only my eyes witness it? How do I know if this image before me is a present, a past, or a maybe? If the memories that form me are not past events, is my being invalid? Inside my head, who dictates reality?

Unique pieces gain value over time, however, the ordinary only gets old. If I am not unique by being one in zero or ordinary in a hundred, if time is fragile and useless, and if my being is not true to factual reality, do I lose value?

And that's when I see the girl inside the mirror, that naked reflection that has never seen the light of day. Pure essence from the core of being.

No matter how much I cut my hair, do my makeup or fix myself, the empty look of the girl in the mirror will always be the same. A cold wind on a previously calm morning, a bone seen through the skin. I think that's why she and I never hit it off. We will never know which of the two is on the right side of history, which of the two lives. Because I've learned from her, how easy it is to fake a breath.

I sit on the floor and watch that blue girl, despite being with me all my life, she is an unknown presence. Still, she smiles at me like an old friend.

When the sky clears up after the storm, I look out the window to confirm the rainbow, and there I see her, the girl behind the window, with such a beautiful dress and such a full smile, she lights up her surroundings so much that it seems to be the divine cause of the shady to stop. With sealed lips, she calls me, happiness before strange returns as a treasured memory. The idea of ​​loneliness as a constant state becomes a distant feeling.

As much as I want to go out and never come back, going in search of the last ray of sunshine, I don't want to leave my cursed destiny to the girl behind the mirror, I will keep her in mind and return to share the happiness.

I cross that door that kept me locked up, I no longer care if it was possible to cross the questionable walls. The grass is softer and the sky is brighter than I remembered. How could I have doubted reality so much? As long as you feel it, I don't mind not living it. In the end, that is what hope in paradise is all about, isn't it? A new assured tomorrow, a possibility, a time that never ends.

The song of the sun is engraved on my skin. I reach the rainbow, however, that magnetic presence vanished without a trace. The weight released from my shoulders goes to the heart, where did that summer that seemed to be eternal go? Or maybe it never existed.

I spent that night when the girl behind the window once smiled, now looking up at the stars, questioning existence. As much as she wants to keep breathing fresh air, and disconnect from the moment, I probably have to go back inside and keep my promise, besides, if it rains again I don't want my dress to get wet. My dress?

I fall in reality, the grass is not wet, and the dress that the sun used to wear, is being dressed in the bones of the moon, in my skin. And now, I am here to confirm that reality. I run through the walls, and that previously translucent mirror becomes fixed. Still, with a tint of blue on my skin and a smile on my face, I thank the girl in my reflection.

Thank you for confirming the existence of the present, the past, and the maybe.

Original text posted by Biblioteca UDEM for “Cuentos que nacieron en Prepas UDEM, 2020”, used with rights and translated by author