Some are in another country,
others in somebody else’s body,
one wants to die
and the other has already tried it,
one would be a mom and from the rest
I only know the number they have
in my social counter;
the television wants to make it easy
but we are still as lonely as always,
truth is that we’ll never get
what popular culture pretends,
we’re not in the nineties
and the towns don’t live anymore,
cities change
and every person is a bridge,
makes me think that I forced
all the relations I had,
maybe that’s why I always end up
in the same corner.
I’m not the friend of my friends,
not now,
but I was once;
it was like looking in a mirror
and see the reflection of something you know
but you can’t touch
because it seems from another world
and is very far away,
crystal hates time too
and I barely see you,
I guess growing up was this:
not missing you
as much as I want to,
I was the first in calling you a friend
and maybe we stayed in the middle
of the way
and we’re only acquaintances
with anxiety separation,
maybe is my fault
because I convinced myself
I would always be alone
and look at me now.
I listened to a song you showed me
and made smile
and believe that being a teenager was worth it,
nor the high school or primary school
deserved my life;
I compared myself with Mary Oliver
and her cage of darkness:
I only have the memories left,
took me years to comprehend
that this, too, was a gift.
