One Day I Will Save Myself by Elvira Sastre

Author:Elvira Sastre
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books

Only with Me. Alone Against Me

The sounds in my head don’t let me sleep

and I hardly remember the last time that I awoke,

but the silence of solitude within oneself is imperturbable,

the dikes of fantasy are indestructible.

And I’m only with me

but alone against me.

I wind up dead each time I face my phantoms

and this not knowing if they conquer me fighting

or if I let myself win through exhaustion

defeats any gesture of abandonment.

I would prefer to see the face of my fear:

it’s a thousand times worse to live with the fear of meeting up with it.

My tricks are useless:

struggling with the fear of falling

isn’t done fighting from the ground.

But how am I going to get up

if the hand that’s extended

is the same one that holds me back?

Who helps me

and who holds me?

Who knows me?

The world is a charade

for anyone who doesn’t know how to play

and I only trust in the trusting

because they are the only ones that don’t believe in lies

—because that’s something I don’t ever do—.

I don’t envy anyone who doesn’t have a reason to cry,

I thank the cloud that rained this slow sorrow

down upon my face,

I know how to see the gray in rainbows

just like I know how to color nightmares

but I still don’t know how to close my eyes,

I’m anesthetized by everything that hurts

and that is something I will never understand

but I have sighed water through my eyes looking at the sea

and I believe that I understand.

I only value myself in the mouths of others,

I grow weary of mirrors

and of the orgies of empty words,

I forget everything that wasn’t capable

of breaking me down and rebuilding me all at once,

I empathize with everything that collects unfinished drawings

because my life was also a black smudge on a white canvas,

—but then someone took me to a museum

and called me art—.

Maybe it’s all about finding someone who keeps looking at you

when you close your eyes.

And I write, I write, I write,

I write so that my babbling doesn’t blind me.

I write, I write, I write,

I write to give silence an excuse.

I write, I write, I write,

I write to repeat to myself that everything is alive.

I write, I write, I write,

I write to teach myself everything that I don’t know about myself,

everything that I don’t want to stop knowing.

I write, I write, I write,

I write so that the day that you no longer have eyes for me you won’t want to leave,

so that the day that you might want to go away you’ll do it without hesitation.

I write, I write, I write,

I write because music is sufficient and I am a person of excesses.

I write, I write, I write,

to never satiate this hunger for everything that has nothing to empty out.

I write, I write, I write.

I don’t stop writing.

I don’t want to die.

(And it’s just that here within only one thought lives:

what will become of me when I discover

that words are also just a lie.)

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