If I had to think of one phrase to describe me,
It would be: “I feel…deeply.”
Happy to sad,
Melancholy to glad,
The good days feel amazing,
And the bad days feel…bad.
But I feel…deeply.

Sitting in a room full of people I’ve seen,
Talked with, greeted, and shared some things.
Yet, I still feel like a stranger,
Who wandered somewhere I shouldn’t be.
This lonely feeling,
I feel it…deeply.

Friends who’ve moved on,
Without a second thought,
Leaving me to fend for myself.
“Who needs anyone else?”
I’ll say to myself to muffle my grief,
But I still feel it…deeply.

Helplessness, entrapment,
All fueled by anxiety.
I gnaw at the ropes,
Trying desperately to break free,
With what little I control,
I guess I just go with the flow.
As I weep,
Because I feel…deeply.

Perhaps, I’m too different.
Perhaps, I’m not enough.
Perhaps, I’m just forgettable,
Perhaps, that’s all I ever was.
These fictitious thoughts creep into my reality,
As I feel…deeply.

I wish I were normal,
I wish I fit in,
And I wish I wasn’t abnormal,
But a normal bystander instead.
I know there’s only one of me,
And I should be the best me I can be,
But sometimes, it feels like,
I can’t even be me…right.
This, I feel…deeply.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t think,
Sometimes I wish I were less advanced.
Would it be easier,
Or would it be harder then?
Why does everyone around me seem to function like they’re fine,
While I’m struggling and crumbling on the inside?
Life never said it was going to be fair.
I just wish I didn’t care.
But instead, I drown in an ocean, searching for meaning,
This I feel…deeply.

What am I to do?
What am I to say?
“This is who I am.”
And go on with my day?
Sometimes I hate how I am,
My biggest hater is myself,
And no one else.
Though it’s easier to assume they do.
Even if it’s not the truth.
Sometimes I wonder how my life would be,
If I didn’t feel so…deeply.

Je n’entends pas la pluie mais en regardant sous les lampadaires, je
la vois.
Auprès de moi, Andrea. Où est-ce mon imagination, déjà ? Mon fantasme ?
Comme ce premier et dernier baiser échangé au moment de la quitter dans la rue, hier.
Je ne me suis pas retourné.
—
Je pense à elle avec tendresse. Déjà avec nostalgie, comme incertain du futur
Je veux la retrouver à son appartement, Ville du Mexique. 2025.
Me enamoré de una mujer.
—
Andrea, elle semble être la réponse à ces nombreuses récentes interrogations
Qui me torturaient, un peu.
L’Amour n’est certainement pas pragmatique mais transcendant.
Me perdre dans ses bras, j’en rêve.
Qu’elle absorbe mes inquiétudes, me les échange avec un repos digne de la mort.
Quoi de plus ?
Peau contre peau, ses longs cheveux et son rire incontrôlé.
La pluie qui se veut silencieuse face aux lampadaires traîtres.
Suis-je en train de me fabriquer un oasis d’illusions les yeux ouverts ?
M’attend-elle ?
—
Mon reflet apparaît dans la vitre et j’aperçois une multitude de possibilités.
Auxquelles aucune je ne semble être en mesure de saisir
« Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point. »

Sometimes
You’re the heavy rain
that ends the thirst and drought.
Sometimes you’re the ocean
between the waves.
Sometimes
You’re the sunrise
That breaks the night.

Sometimes

You’re the train that never arrives.