“safe harbour”

There’s nothing better than to feel loved. It is true that we shouldn’t look for another person to make us feel fulfilled, but in the face of unconditional young love, there’s nothing you can really do to help it. Am I wrong?

There’s nothing better than to feel seen. I can’t remember what living felt like before I met you. It is as if I’ve been born again after you noticed me. The same place, same hour, but different purposes, brought us into a relationship I can’t live without.

There’s nothing better than to feel heard, to feel appreciated. I wake up and go to sleep thinking about you. I know you may be tired of talking to me all day, but I can’t help the urge to just stare at you, be near you, be a part of your life. I feel like I’m getting more tangled in your net each time we think about a future together. Each plan is a promise that I’ll be forever by your side.

Or that was what I thought.

But eyes never lie… I should have noticed it.

Something else caught your attention, and I didn’t notice it. You’re always smiling, yes, but not with me. I was only a spectator. Have I fooled myself since the beginning? Did I see just what I wanted to see in you? This doesn’t seem right.

I thought you were mine. You’re mine, right? I don’t know who I’m without you; I’m lost, and it doesn’t feel good. I feel marked because, even after all those years, I still think about you. Yet, you moved on.

I just didn’t want to see you already have a safe harbour, it just wasn't me.

“brace yourselves, the performance is about to start.”

Chasing new emotions is an addiction.

Spending as if I were taking what's already mine.
Loving as if there were no end.
Lying as if I were acting.

Even if none of this is real,
I feel as if it were.

I need to feel.

Even if tears form,
Even if I lose myself in euphoria.
In the end, that's the summary of every play:
Comedy or Tragedy.

I dance between the two,
Feeling the adrenaline of being on the tightrope.

Experiences like these make me feel alive.
The beauty of the world lies in the senses.
Hold me. Touch me. Kiss me. Love me.
All of it intensely — for tomorrow, I will not be here.

The night before, naked in your bed.
The next, only in your thoughts.

Feel with me tonight,
Because tomorrow you will cry for every word that became literal.

"Break a leg."
"Globe of Death."
"Final act."

You will no longer find me in the dressing rooms, in the auditorium, on the stages.
But fallen amidst the audience,
Suspended among the spotlights,
Between the straps of each motorcycle.

I will be celebrated for all I did.
Every mistake, forgiven.
Every success, overestimated.

One part of me will live in memories.
The other, in the regret for all that was wasted.

Today, I am chaos.
Tomorrow, I will be art.

“the corset and its measurements”

It was small, worn — but mine.

Even if it had been used by many before me, Now it was my corset.

In anyone's eyes, seeing it in my hands, It was clear it wouldn't fit. It hadn't been made to my measurements. It wasn't made for me, But I was so happy to finally become an adult that I didn't notice.

The roles reversed. It was I who struggled to mold myself to you. I undressed so you could stay with me, Even if that meant becoming vulnerable.

That's where you wanted to be, wasn't it? Beneath all my layers of clothing.

I allowed it.

Even with the worn lining, Even feeling its metal pierce my flesh. Even knowing its boning would leave marks on my skin.

Wounds… Cuts. I couldn't react to the pain. I couldn't explain why I was so down. It was our secret.

No one would understand why someone so young would wear something so antiquated. They wouldn't want to see that I had become an adult.

Or worse: They would try to take it from me.

I almost let it be too late when I finally recognized its state:

An old corset. Worn. Threadbare. Its boning clung to me like claws. Its knots, so tight, prevented me from thinking, depriving my brain of oxygen.

You were part of an old fantasy: Young. Foolish. Innocent. Fragile. Defenseless. When I realized I wasn't part of that play, I wanted to tear you off. But in tearing it off, only wounds remained.

I trusted your support for so long that I couldn't stand on my own.

I fell. And for the first time in a long time, they saw me bleed.

All the cuts now flowed freely. I thought I would die.

My corset was never an armor for difficult times. My corset was never an accessory to make me more beautiful. My corset was never proof that I had become a woman. My corset was never mine. And even though it was a painful lesson,

It's good, finally, to be able to breathe.

I, Barabbas.

Barabbas,

Thief, murderer, one of the rebels who betrayed Rome.

I was not surprised by my sentence, as I was born into a condemned scenario.

I knew my actions would end in death, and here I was, with heavy chains that showed me my place. Nothing more than a slave, dying for opposing my masters.

Barabbas,

I was not seeking forgiveness, but that day…

That day, the son of a father returned home, while the Son of the Father died for me.

I did not ask for forgiveness, because until then I did not know I could be forgiven. I had no dreams, because my fate was already sealed.

Who was Barabbas but another one condemned to hell?

Barabbas,

I closed my eyes, expecting to receive my condemnation. My sentence: death.

But not feeling the whip, I opened my eyes and there You were…

Why did You die for me? Why do You love me?

Your blood fell upon me, there were no more marks on my garments. I could breathe without the chains that once bound me.

You gave me a new identity, the mark of Your blood.

Your irresistible love filled the emptiness that existed within me, and only then could I understand who I was.

Today, I am no longer I, Barabbas.
Just Bar Abbas: son of the Father.

“memories of an uncertain future”

I wish I could dive into the depths, with my eyes closed, without worrying about what is hidden. Feeling the sea embrace my body, like a hug that can be threatening or my only safe harbor.

I want to forget all my afflictions and make room only for the cry of anguish, almost inaudible, present among the waves. Will I ever have the privilege of feeling truly alive? Will I have the chance to share with my loved ones the experiences and pleasures that I will live?

The harsh and sad reality continues to gradually drag me into an abyss of emotions, whose sensations affect me in an inexplicable way, preventing me from moving forward and stealing my voice.

I only endure in silence, carrying the weight of my sorrows and holding within me a vast ocean of tears.

“caged bird”

Through yours mirrored pupils, I become a spectator of my own state of misery and hopelessness.