BLANCA ES LA NOCHE
White is the Night
I cannot speak. I don't find the words.
They say that the problem is in the amygdala, that the amygdala is closed from fear. But I don't know. My body is hurting me; my soul is hurting me. It is as if the water inside an immense globe pushes the walls, threatens to explode but never does. So I stay here, immobile, silent, deafened; suffocated by the saliva of my own words, which do not dare to leave my mouth. Stunned by the noise of my own silence.
They say I have little birds in my mind.
I am in the dark, until the moon will shine and the night is white.