NOTES WITHOUT SENDER

 

You arrived without making a sound. You've always been discreet. You have entered into my soul. You're still here. 

They make noise, and unlike you, I didn't even need to know them to recognize them. Forgive the redundancy. I have deciphered the energy with which they torment you. Yes, they are still there, swarming around you, wishing for it to go badly for you, so that it may go well for them. You know that. And they even use it as blackmail, it's a breeze that I feel, a soot of rancor and a bad smell, I sense it. You don't know how I know, but you know I know. I don't know how you know, I just know that you know that I know.

And the distance is always shortened by telepathy, by the lines of energy between us. And I also know of your despair, your indecision, your tiredness, your shoulders, the bills that hang on your back, the obligations you want to be eternal, the lack of answers, the wickedness with which you approach and the intentions of your lies. Get to know them well. You have been privy to all of them. I know them. I've never had to. But I know how to read the ellipsis between the feelings and pretensions, the lesser interests, which overlap, and the way they use you, knowing your honesty and your honor, and your vulnerability. No, dear, that's not love. Because love is healthy. Love comes from within and you need to see the beloved object well, even if it is far away. That's what love is and also his courage. For love, courage is needed. 

For me, this courage to love you, knowing you far away in the eternities. It takes a lot of courage to, out of love, give up on a dream, deciding not to give it up, to keep it inside us, knowing that it does not materialize. This is love. 

The rest are habits and vices of exquisite appreciation, of petty conduct, of anything goes, of childishness and malice, of folly and poison, some this and some that, some that and some that. Stress accumulates in you, until it causes the abscess, the total disinterest, the understanding that is reached, global, after all, what your heart sensed, was real. But you didn't give voice to intuition. You didn't want battles. And those who chose the battles, also chose to exhaust them, to forget them, because that would collide with their own very noble interests, and who still use guilt as excuses to cushion you, they do not want to allow you to wake up, that after all the wickedness, the apparatus, the cheap, rhymes everything with statement, some, bank, others, on a caricatured garden bench, where you grow old in the hours of analysis,  In the hours of pause and rest, in those hours, I feel your tiredness, no matter how cordial you are, no matter how much you don't want to face it, all of this is sustained as fact. You repress your emotions, with your other senses, in your chest you have unresolved tensions, doubts that you wish you hadn't been born, that grow as the hours go by, That the tears you cry, no one sees them, but I feel them. That your immense sadness also has your blood, that your nobility does not allow you to approach the factual. 

Sadness aside, you still have your dreams. Focus on them. Feed them the best you know and can. And you can do anything. You've always landed on your feet! And you know that the essential is invisible. Focus on you. In your strength. In your intelligence, in your immense wisdom. Many believe that they deceive you and you pretend that yes, they deceive you. In your heart, your heart is tuned and directed to your goal, and no pope will deceive you. Composes. Throw your fingers on the keyboard, wake up the melody inside you and dance. That your child needs to feel you smile.