three pregnant women visited me in my sleep. they were standing near my bed, with different objects in each of their hands. the first one, young and vivid, with golden hair and blue eyes that could only compare to the summer sky, raised her hand and spoke to me. she said, as she handed me whatever she was holding: "this compass is the sum of all the places you've been and you will never see it turn itself to reveal the faces of the people you've met there". a golden compass fell into my chest as I opened my eyes, scared. then, she grabbed my hand and made me touch her belly. quickly, she stepped aside and the second woman got closer to me. her skin showed marks, not scars, but like, those marks you get in your face when you wake up and you've been sleeping in a wrong position and your pillow gets drawn all over your face. her hair was short and her eyes were green. she spoke to me and told me: "whatever I have here, it's not meant for you to use, this is a gift for whoever you are not today, and probably will never be". she opened her hands upon me and a tiny mirror fell upon me. she then grabbed my hand and made me touch her belly. I could feel her belly button popping out and it was kinda gross. she silently stepped aside but the third one never moved. she leaned her head to one side. her hair was beautiful. it was full of curls that looked like autumn leaves twisting in the wind. but she just stood there, looking at me, and cried. I started crying too, as she opened her hand and dropped a tiny silver figure of a cat. I tried to get up but my chest seemed to weight a ton. I suddenly got swallowed into what I like to think was another dream I can't remember, but I couldn't feel sadness anymore. and though I couldn't say a single word, I know by heart those were the mothers I could've had. I was there, in different versions and different meanings of the same one I am now, but I couldn't see that. the third one was crying. not because she was sad, but because she knew. after twenty four years I've finally realized it is not me who matters, and it is not what hurts me that actually hurts, but it is who I am not. and all of the things that aren't there.

we were on the bus on the way back to my house. we ****** a couple hours before that. I made you listen to "it's hard to find a friend" by pedro the lion. thought you didn't like it and paused it. asked me why I did that. let the record play again. told me you liked it and you liked me and kissed me. your head rested on my shoulder and we got to the longest winter. you looked asleep. kept looking out the window. red haired coconut scent. it might be hard to find a friend. but it is harder to lose one.

saw your bus finally coming after waiting for half an hour
it was always a pain to know that you were finally leaving
we didn't talk, like children (and i'm so sorry for that)
i'm mostly made of horrible things all covered in ****
we didn't even kiss goodbye and it's killing me

it's been four months now

i'm seriously thinking about killing myself this year.

these days I've been feeling as if my legs were rooted in place. like the hope a kid will show with just the look on his face. I might be tired but it's not that bad, after work I still have things on which I gently rest my back. like records no one know, and videogames like pillows, letters someone wrote me three october moons ago.

these days I've been feeling as if my arms were two anchors. they get to the bottom and get stucked in the ground. they can't hold the air you used to breathe in my face, softly. they can no longer reach for your thighs like empty gardens on amaltea. they can no longer sever the ties that we create for our own lives. but it's ok, and I know it's ok, and at least it's ok.