My stories

What am I doing?

Meat and blood? A collection of organs, glands and bones packed in a human tissue suit? The exotic matrix of DNA and its variants, woven by an unknown source?

No, it's not that complicated. In fact, that's too simple.

I'm from stories. My own appeared. Edited to the point where the original is sometimes distorted, it can no longer be recognized. One day I'm a blue-eyed teacher who loves Haiku. The next is a slow poke runner who looks better between the yellow and the green. Then a writer who wants a vacation in the Keys and in a shell. My stories one day explain to me and betray the next one.

My stories accumulate as the farmer builds up with hay trees. Sometimes my stories are varied. I say that I love people except those I do not like. I am supportive, except those I disagree with. I rely on patience, unless I consider the task to be too slow for the other. All this is true except for the fact that it is not true.

Sometimes my stories are like lightning strikes, they blink for a while, they only go to the unknown. I am dear, intelligent, creative and donor, just to see these visits and disappear into the night, depending on the context. Where are they going?

Sometimes my stories are a treasure like divers who found valuable gold and jewels in the sunken Atocha. In the moments of weakness I find strength. The confused moments I see clearly. In sudden moments of anger, compassion comes to calm the needy. Where did you come from?

Sometimes my stories are confused as listening to a word that is bad. I've been looking for silence, but they still have live sound and continuous sound. I want it and want to save it from its wishes. I like freedom, but too often I am a slave to my thoughts.

Sometimes my stories are one of the revelations. I pretend I'm not enough, even though we're all full of. I pretend to be a shortage, but they are surrounded by abundance. I pretend I do not know, but I have decades of evidence.

At the end of the day I have only my stories.

As the sun falls for years, I know I'm not my stories.

It's just me.

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