Are We Really Alive?

By Pedro Venancio

Deep in my essence, the confusion corroded my lost soul, and strangely; the feeling became part of me.

On that day, the intense sun left me with a languid soul as if every thought slowly danced through my heavy mind and every moment I lived, I could only wish I didn’t. Until I drowned in the own calamitous ocean of my unquiet mind. Although the immense magnitude of heat left a scar on me, when nighttime arose from the dead, I weirdly missed the brightness. The sun hammered people’s essence but at the same time gave purpose to their spirit. At dawn is when people are reborn from the period of unconsciousness. For a couple, rapid hours in the dawn, people feel vivid, feel infinite as their lives are never going to end. But it’s also in the dawn when they most complain about their scar. People complain about the warmth that the greatest star shares with them; people complain when the small stars take place and they feel their bones numb as if they were inside a freezer; why are people that sensitive to nature? Maybe that’s the reason why they destroy it, their own sensitivity; people complain about themselves, others, and life; but when someone’s life end, they cry a river of sadness, impeding them from once again seeing the sun in life and accepting their fate to live scarred. Isn’t that a paradox? When the bright star goes to rest at the other end of the world, people miss the spark and soon are stuck with the white moon which brings the wintry-weather.

As the dusk reigned the world, chilly temperatures knocked on people’s soft skin. Myself, in my compact yet strangely comfy apartment, I felt the wind take my soul on a tour to desolation in isolation. My frightened body approximated to the mirror, scared of what I had to see, alone in my mind but full of people in my life. Usually, the misconfigured reflex would let someone see themselves, but I couldn’t tell what I felt or saw. Deep in my essence, the confusion corroded my lost soul, and strangely; the feeling became part of me as if I was holding the weight of the world in my back even though my head felt as light as paper. Inside the depth of my eyes, the windows to my lost soul, I felt lonely as if the dusk made me realize all the problems, or the dawn made me create all the problems? The girl in the mirror was not the same as me. Somehow the same person in appearance but not the same in essence. I just wanted to change places with the girl inside the mirror, solemn: A life everybody desires. The dusk took my will, the moon was full while I was empty. The wind blowing through my hair and carrying the thoughts away to another day. Physically, I was alone but I knew that despair was sitting by my side. I softly touched the other side of my peculiar identity and woke up to reality confused, wondering, are people only alive to a degree?

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