I don’t know the how, nor the when Carme Fuster

I don't know the how, nor the when. by Carme Fuster

It looks like it's empty. Hollow.

A place where the emotions have been blocked by astrange external force that turned you into a being without a soul.

And I, in the attempt to pretend the most similar indifference, I give myself away. I reveal my difference and my way to be.

And then I become an object in which being and soulplay no role.

It's time to forget, right?

Time to stop feeling. To stop feeling you. To stop to have you present. To stop trying to get your attention. It's time to face the truth: the undeniable

truth of your heart. And of my place in it. This afternoon has no mean. I've been sucked into exhaustive consumerism and the stress of filling time with things that are, after all, void.

It has to mean something. It had to mean something.

I have impulsive moments when I would scream my feelings in front of everyone. The most sincere love.

But the days of reality have come back. The doubtful feeling of what I really do in this life. Wanting to be useful and not knowing how.

Dissatisfaction and fear go hand in hand in my head. I have somuch to express. It's never enough.

It never ends, and it never begins.