Inventario de fortalezas

Cansado. Muy cansado. Frágil como si no tuviera piel. Indefenso. Pero sobre todo cansado de tener dos versiones. Oprimido el pecho, oprimida la garganta. Insignificante. Llenos los ojos de lágrimas de impotencia. No es justo. Nada de esto es justo y tal vez deba dejar de buscar justicia. Tal vez deba dejar de buscar sentido y deba sólo aceptarlo. Aceptar que ESTO es la vida y que no existe nada al final del arcoíris. Que no hay arcoíris. Incompleto, dependiente de una máquina para purificar mis males. Limitado. Formando parte de los olvidados, de los que no miran. Nadie entiende, nadie comprende y nadie quiere entender y nadie quiere comprender. Es un desierto sin fin. Una caminata sin destino llena de espejismos. Cansado. Cansado de andar, de sonreír, de vivir. En deuda con los incondicionales. Quiero llegar al oasis y sumergirme en sus frescas aguas y ser el que era, lo que era. Quiero encontrar el oasis y tirarme en su orilla a reír, a soñar, a dormir en paz. Somos huérfanos del mundo, somos lo que no se mira, de lo que no se habla. Ni siquiera nos tenemos a nosotros mismos. Esta caminata me ha dejado con cadáveres que he tenido que dejar al sol, sin mirar atrás. Éramos más, y quedamos pocos. Los he visto volverse arena. Los he visto caer para no levantarse jamás. Los vi consumirse en segundos, dejar de ser, dejar se existir y convertirse en el doloroso recuerdo de quienes los querían. Es una extraña lotería de los que tenemos boleto asegurado. Es una fila de orden aleatorio de la cual se nos dio la obligación de formar parte, sin quererlo, ni desearlo y tal vez ni merecerlo. Nos va quedando menos, y hay que aceptarlo o aceptarlo. Esto es la vida que nos dieron. Esto es la vida que nos queda. Esto es lo que hay. We perform a show for the loved ones. To save them from the pain we suffer. To assure we're the only ones suffering and not them. We perform for the rest, so the "how are you's" have  a short answer. And not the truth, the pain, the loneliness, the despair,  the frighten, the coldness, the darkness and the vulnerability. Is not like the rest cares, its more like we are polite and politically correct, and we save them from looking into the darkness up close. They don't want to look into. They just want to say to themselves that they have done what they could, which normally is nothing. We get it. We know it. And though we play the role sincerely. So they can keep up with their lives, and not having to look again. So they feel helpful and that they did they good deed. Not looking back. It's like seeing someone in flames, burning and scorching on the side of the road and slowing down, and turning down the window to ask: how are you? is like they are not seeing. Nor wanting to see. And we, burning, screaming in pain acted out poorly a "Great thanks!" which is enough for them to sigh in relief "Oh good, I did my part then" and accelerate away. No!! Don't you see? Don't you see I'm burning? Why do you fucking ask? Can't you see I'm dying? Can't you see with you own eyes I'm fighting? No... you can't. That would mean you'd have to accept you could do something but it's better, convenient, easier to not see the flames burning our bodies and comply with this fucking game to keep your conscience at ease and say: I've done my part. I'm tired of this game. We all are. But here we are. Writing with a pseudonym to be able to show behind the curtain a glimpse of truth.  Where do I put this feeling? this disappointment? Oh, I see, I need to eat it all by myself in silence, so the rest of you could live your godly life.  We are alone in the darkness, burning like a candle and consuming our days lying to make others live their complete lives better.