The best part of me

Look, how crazy things are … It’s not me not (yet), it’s really things! Nothing fits, nothing explains, but everything happens. Me, who hurts me! And yet I hear: to err is human. Yeah, it’s so human that in a moment getting it right becomes inhuman. It does not weigh on the conscience. It does not take your sleep. Don’t even scratch your nerves. But I beg you not to find me insane, masochistic. Yeah no, that I am not. I may be an exaggerated sensitive, with some abstract problems, but nothing that time does not solve. With some disorganized thoughts, but nothing a reflection won’t solve. But I can still feel that the best part of me is the unusual part, the part that cries and laughs at the same time, the part that gives in willingly, the part that isn’t afraid of being afraid, of being intense in words, gestures and even the smallest details. The part that shuts and shouts, that closes its eyes and sees everything, that walks slowly and arrives anywhere. It’s the part that can’t hide a pain, and sometimes declare a happiness. That’s the part I like the most and least understand. The part I see various beginnings and few means to an end. Because even if I try, an impulsive heart, a racing mind, and a needy body will never cease to be part of the best part of me. Karla Moreno


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