Imagen

I’m in a boat. A boat sailed away by the cold December winds and the detritus of my last grins jumping in puddles all over the place, the exact same place where I thought I could hide away my sorrow and never have the door forced open by the buildup. Yet, I’m still here, sailing in a boat, traveling the calm tide of the high seas right in the middle of a foggy morning. All silent. All alone.

Loneliness overruns every corner in my head, the emptiness of this solitude striking with the defeaning waves of silence that drill my eardrums even now, at the very climax of everything, I can’t bear my head anymore, paranoia, why paranoia; can’t let it go, it doesn’t let me go. So fast, run! But where? The fog is surrounding all the precincts of the boat. I’m alone in this sea of the lush and undiscovered, the voices in my mind, they wont have me sleep through this briny of sorrow, but what is sleep when one could just die and not having to awake as time passes in a slow sunrise anyway? The barometer announces then, the highest numbers registered in the last couple of minutes.

I’ve been a middle distance runner as of late, like the clouds in a day with scattered showers and for this I trip in my track with the halfway paved stones I’ve left during the last couple of years, hitting my head strongly against the stowage floor of the boat and my mind goes silent for the next couple of hours. Couldn’t I just hit myself stronger in the head to die? Oh well… Bad coincidences will always be my forlorn.

Beep, beep . . . The sonar.

I wake up anchored inside the nothingness. I rise as fast as my body allows with the sense of being lost. “What has happened? Where am I?”, I certainly don’t know but I can see the light of the sun just starting to break through the clouds of this dense fog, I can start to see the sail from the top of the boat, so I climb as soon as my weakness allows me to move, in hope of finding the shore, another boat, a plane, any kind of help but I can only see them, far in the neverlands of tomorrow, oh my dear long gone friends, locked and lost in dreams, so far away from reality and yet so close to my early reflections, please let me go to you, come to stay and never leave me again, please, don’t disappear, I beg you. No, don’t go. They’re gone.

Where have I gone wrong? – I think to myself,
What is it that caused them to depart from my broken heart?
Nothing is ever certain in me for sure.

Climb down – I keep thinking,
Get down you silly orphan of life.

Finally I come down as my latest thoughts have made a crescendo in this dichotomy of life and death, I start to walk overboard, lift my arms and have them spread wide open and I stretch my hands to the sky, my last try of finding a helping hand out there to take me away, I can feel the waves going stronger making the boat stagger from port to starboard, like they’re asking me to jump, soaking me through to add more weight to my shoulders as if they wanted to pull me down, give such an amazing end to the show, the place where I finally give in to my grave.

I’ve had it with my lack of energy,
I’ve had it with my pain,
I’ve had it with the distant lands and distant hands.
I’ve had it with the eternal struggle, my energy and strength have burned so rapidly and turned to the debris of ancient times when everything seemed right.

For a moment I stop noticing the sound of waves hitting violently against the boat and getting inside its surface, the cold water soaking me through feels like it’s taking away my tears everytime they come down. As a child I used to think the sea was made of tears once, hence the salty taste of it. Maybe it could have been the tears of that old lady who waited for her husband, the one who left for a long trip in search of the greatest lands with the price of encountering death in his voyage. I could sense the pain, it was everywhere, the nostalgia, the longing, all of it came along everyime I stretched my eyes to the oh so violent sea.

The fog slowly starts to drift apart, up and out the air flows bathing me in ray of lights showing me the long coast. I’m floating and sneaking in misery like a crying children haunted by the sorrow. I start bending down holding myself, shivering like the ocean, scattered like a serpent murdered off my habbits. Nothing’s ever certain for me and the sun is shining. I may be dead, but I’m still alive, for the time being.

Beep . . . Beep . . .
The electrocardiograph machine.