After a vague
effort when I get to raise my head and look ahead, life stops in front of me
with whips flogging me which leave a trace on my skin, reminding me once again
that I'm just a piece of meat. Some marks heal
soon. Others never. And those that endure are those that remind us that to avoid the
blow it's necessary to move away.
After a moment
of reflection, I stop and I'm about to observe every passerby, analyzing every
little movement and I surprise myself when I discover the confidence with which
they walk. Ironically,
those are the ones with the body covered with lashes. I continue on my way with
an eye on the floor again and a new thought round and round in my head:
wretched naives...
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