62

I get mad when I dream about you. I feel like this whole time I've been faking the fact that I don't care that you are no longer in my life. The truth is, I care. Sometimes. Brief times. When I feel cold, literally, and alone, I search for you, I imagine how bored you must be, how you imagine me being so fun and full of contrast. But the rest of the times I don't think about you. Lately I do, but I think perhaps it is because I am working at that school where is this kid who looks just like you, and even acts like you. His name is Emilio.

I dreamt with your brother, I can't recall if it was the same dream. He told me that he was sure you missed me, I didn't care, I wanted to be his friend, I always thought that he was so much cooler than you but he never liked me enough to be my friend. And I dreamt with you, with your memories. I was a ghost in them, I could rewind and watch everything. You were at a Gala, for some reason Sergio Fajardo was there too, and you were with a girl that had stolen Lorde's moniker; she ran from the main carpet and you followed, then you got into a car and cried. I hate when you cry, I feel like it's my fault. She had her period, that was why she ran. While she was cleaning herself up she was telling you a funny story but you were thinking about how I have never seen the ocean. I woke up and you were there telling me that nobody should know that we were talking again, I didn't care, I wanted a cigarette so bad. Then I actually woke up, and got mad.

61

Hace cinco años yo le dije:
- Es como si la Luna se burlara de mí.
Y él me respondió:
- y es como si burlaras al mar.

60

I once read that painkillers dull emotional distress, since then I've been popping acetaminophen like candies.

59

Everything is rotten
inside
the back of my head is hurting again
should I close my nose?
intoxicating smell
somebody chase me, please
you can't complain about being wet when you jumped in the pool

Tried to hang myself but I couldn't breath and
I needed to
tears are MIA
this self deprecating state at the bottom is not brave nor helping, what am I trying anymore? it used to be endearing allowing myself to relive bad memories, finding what truths laid on them, growing and improving, now is a bounce-back permanent disposition
this is all, there is?

58

Pensé varias veces que me iba a morir, pensamientos reales. Pensé el estado de mis redes sociales para siempre y cómo organizarían mi habitación, lo que harían con mis cosas. Luego pensé que no iba a morir nunca.

Lo más irreal es ver a la gente caminar en la calle, los carros hacer ruido pero sin realmente escuchar nada. Me pegaba a la ventana y podía escuchar muy levemente las bocinas de los carros y motos, la gente vendiendo fruta y gritando. Veía como el viento golpeaba las palmas e imaginaba los golpes. El sol penetrante sin sentir el ardor en mi piel, ni las gotas de lluvia en mi ropa.

Nunca me había molestado tanto estar hospitalizada. Intenté salir a caminar pero era la misma habitación, diez metros más grande, así que no volví a salir. El olor estéril, el sonido raquítico, la luz constante de los pasillos. Creció poco a poco ese sentimiento de liberarme de ahí, me odié por estar tan enferma y que venir a mi casa no fuese una opción. Creo que lloré más de la frustración que por dolor. Todavía recuerdo como me la pasaba en la ventana intentando escuchar algo real.

Me imaginé que al salir iba sentir el viento y deleitarme pero fue un choque de todo. El ruido de afuera me abrumó mucho. Cuando estaba en el carro mirando hacia afuera quería vomitar, era demasiado, toda esa gente haciendo todo ese ruido. Quise volver a la clínica por unos segundos.

Tal vez por eso no he salido mucho desde que volví, me da miedo todo, se ven muy agresivos todos esos estímulos.