I read my texts over and over again and I think they express well what’s inside my soul… But I feel on them a slight ... ‘track’ of the past, of all those wrong feelings that filled me for what seemed like an eternity. I thought I was free when I started writing again, when the words started making sense again ... But I know I'm not free yet, perhaps never will be...
Someone once told me that the past, good or bad, make us who we are in the present. Maybe it does; no, I’m sure it does but still… Isn’t it possible for me to get rid of it? Just from a tiny little piece of it? But maybe, just maybe, it might have been that “tiny little piece” of past that impulse the change I feel within. Maybe it might have been that “tiny little piece” of past that deleted the piece of me that used to keep me locked inside my shell.
I feel more me now than I ever felt before. Now I know that, and it doesn't matter if it’s in a small number, some people want me around, that, somehow – and I'm still trying to find out how is that possible– I’m important, that they will miss me if I leave. The past it’s not important anymore. My mistakes? Well, I’ll take them; I’ll let them be a part of me if they have to. But they must hide in the shadows, embarrassed by what they did, by what they said, by what they felt. I dare them to try and steal my new light.
I’ll conquer my freedom
[Picture by me]