"The Swallows Return"

There is a spring of the heart and this mine. Love, as I know it, resolves itself into small solicitudes: food, heat and cold, tiredness, sometimes money. Everything else lay as if submerged at unreachable depths, in a mass of subjects never addressed, excuses to be made and received and memories to be corrected, which would remain unchanged.
My anger was always a big part of my life, and so often, my shield. It is a strange condition of the soul, a category, a dimension that leads to loneliness. It is also inseparable from suffering.
Sometimes I felt like a keeper of a museum. A huge, empty space where no one ever comes, and I’m watching over it for no one but myself. I am tired, with that tiredness that only anger and emptiness bring.

I remember I always had this daydream when I was a child, always in a daze. This is now my strength, but when you are 5 years old, you just feel the world differently.
Feeling different is the worst cage a person can build for themselves, because sooner or later, when you start realize how sad you are, you can fall ill with just a memory.
That feeling of being different brought me to be a lonely person. With time, I've understood that behind my indifference, or “couldn't-care-less-attitude”, there was a big inability to communicate. I was unable to communicate my emotions and for that reason I couldn't read others’.
That’s when I finally got it. I finally understood. It wasn’t the thought that counted. It was the actual execution that mattered, the showing up for somebody. The intent behind it wasn’t enough. Not anymore for me.

I wandered through the silent apartment like the ghost of myself, unhurriedly following my own lucidity. “I'm going mad”, I thought sometimes. But I didn't mind. In fact, it made me smile, because at last, for the first time, I was the one making the choices.