Mucho tiempo después, cuando la edad brinda madurez y da tiempo para pensar, plantar y cosechar algunos ocurrentes porqués, piensa uno y dice fucking cringe. Este mínimo gesto de un niño con un deseo of what’s on the other side me parece algo tan lejano, y lleno de ficción. Acompañado por sueños de un niño engañado con historias hechas por un ratón. Sentí como debía de descartar esta experiencia juguetona y chistosa como un simple juego de niños. But in my then reality, I wanted to have a dream. Finally something good.
Tome mi último suspiro como si fuera mi último respiro en esa casa. Lo quise así pero así no se hizo. I found myself back in that house, never thought to step foot there again. I hated coming back just as much as I do now. At first, I expected to feel broken to be back. To feel my soul shattered in the realization of another unrealized dream. Walking into that house, I thought, was to feel like stading in front of a firing squad at the cries of their shouting captain. It felt like jello. There were no bullets or bayonets, rather I found myself oscillating in my made up state of mind, waiting to feel alive with non-existing feelings. I wanted to hurt. But looking down at my chest, it was clear that I was free of bullet holes.