By: Camilo Arias

Does your voice mislead me jokingly how miserably I get uneasy in the passionate megalomania of what was presumed to be my relative calm? I can not prove that, I can only ask that I imagine it a wild breeze that makes my hair pink, the breeze that speaks to me and I speak to her, I imagine it, I imagine that she speaks to me, that she speaks to me in history, In the story of my life and it makes me feel alive, I imagine many, many things, but even I talk on the phone. I must see myself screaming, I fear to see myself like this, this seems impossible, but it is part of my nature to imagine, I just repress my depression, I look at the walls of my residence, they seem simple, but they are not, because everything has its science, the science that encompasses, the science that is the chemistry that I feel for you, but I simply speak to you, the lightning that came out of my throat impressed me because what I told you made me feel alive after so long in this city, after I thought I would have to cry or go out and kill myself, but there are things that help me live, but I just go from time to time to some place, to my mind, and I only talk to you and I feel all this, but when I get lost in this city and you know understand that only a moment is enough for me to think all the things that happen as movies through my mind, my crazy mind, my anamnesis, my regression, my hypnosis, my catharsis but after our body changes every day much more , it is better to touch us in the dark, it is better to judge us in eternity, more the door opens towards eternity, I do not know whether to judge ourselves in freedom, or perhaps, to lock ourselves up in perpetual prison, I believe that nightmares hurt me more than the good dreams I have I could have, the lines that I write, sometimes do not converge and converge, but I try to be sequential, I do not kidnap them, I try to let them go, I do not want to chain them, I do not want to put chains that hold them back, because otherwise I would fall into the same mistake of the oppression of my words, as I always do, and still, I'm still talking to you on the phone.