it is not exactly that i need to say all that i think of, it is more like i kind of urge i feel i need to relieve whenever something touches me.
i have to do it, it is painful, irrational, agressive, always with me, torturing me, whispering in my ear and it hurts so badly that i finally surrender, and talk.
maybe it is that i have the impression it is the only way for my thoughts to get organized, or for myself to become real, or for the others to know me.
probably so, more certainly it doesnt have to do with the others at all.
when i protest, when i share my love verbally, when i raise my voice giving an opinion and so on, it is not only that i try to change the world, it is more that i need the others to percieve me in order for me to realize i am something outside my myself, so to say.
the only problem, and it will always be an unsolved problem, is that neither that nor the others will ever be mighty enough to prove me that i am, mind you, to show me what i am since i will always remain closer to my doubts than to any external material signal.
always here, trapped there, in the origins of my voice: where the instinct hides.
3 comentarios:
Sí, tranquila, no eres la única con la obsesión de la comunicación, aunque a la vez sea diferente para cada uno.
El otro día lo pensaba: se puede morir de incomunicación, se puede...
Clara
se puede? un poquito, o muchito, por dentro, seguro, pero realmente?
Yo creo que sí, claro, igual que se puede morir de amor literalmente... Supongo que depende de lo fuerte que te dé y de que logres sobreponerte o no.
Clara
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