It's been too long since I cried.
It was as if my eyes had felt the need to get wet and my lips to taste that salty flavor that only tears could have.
I always believed that tears were little pieces of glass that could wrinkle the cheeks and damage the soul, making it weaker. At the same time, however, I had not yet found any explanation to justify that feeling, that mood that gradually became lighter and more carefree. After those tears, which were able to tinge my cheeks red, somehow inexplicable, they helped me, they took care of me. As if, after that period of time where only pain could reign, a rebirth followed. That feeling of relief filled my soul and stitched it, needle after needle, thread after thread.
And yet, for the first time, that feeling had decided to abandon me. No one took care of my soul: I felt those thin threads breaking one after the other, leaving only traces of tiny fragments, too small to reconnect. That time, I was destroyed, broken. There was no new beginning waiting for me, but only a predictable end, which was getting closer and closer, step by step.
I felt burdened by an invisible cluster of air that had managed to capture me and I had the impression that, from its grip, there was no more escape.
Surrender was the only way out, submit to the consequences, and then hunt down the madness.
However, it was that same feeling that made me travel among the many memories I had chained for a long time: they had become prisoners of a drawer with the key lost in the pain of every remembrance.
They no longer had to be important, I didn't want them to have any value; they just had to float in the oblivion of a mind that was too tired to function. My wish, however, was not heard by anyone.
Just like the wind that can mess up hair, creating confusion, those memories started to suffocate my mind, one after the other.
'What am I doing? Why did I decide to hand myself over?'
And the answer came immediately, sinking its thorns into my skin, adding new scars: it was called remorse, despair. Those two elements that firmly embraced my madness.
So many memories colliding with the desire to be opened and lived again. A continuous movement, which brought to light the rhythm of the threads woven by my mother, crossing one over the other.
She was a weaver: she found it curious how the threads could be twisted under her will, to form everything she dreamed of. She tried to explain her art to me, but I only understood that everything revolved around small plots. She told me about the delicacy: the process took place according to a slow, calm movement; when she emphasized the importance of the sweetness with which her fingers touched those creations, she simultaneously recalled the lightness with which the wind caressed my skin.
A wind with a soul, I mean. A wind with which you could talk and listen, without masking any secret. A wind with the gift of healing. A wind that, however, could not last forever.
My mother warned me of how dangerous it could be. The disasters and the disorder it could cause. Yet I never believed her; the wind did not lie, it was my friend.
The wind carried nothing but itself.
It always took care of me, stitched up every scratch.
'Why would he turn his back on me?'
I still wonder now.
'Why did he do it?' The wind betrayed me.
Maybe, the problem was me at the end. He was stained with that madness of mine.
All I had to do was accept the truth, no matter how painful it was.
I had learned to understand that everything around me had two faces: that wind that communicated with me and with the flowers had disappeared and in its place remained that traitorous air, which made it difficult to breathe. It was like my body got too fragile, too light, all of a sudden. And that same enemy of mine had decided to take care of it in the worst way: it shook me from one side to the other, with my feet always touching the ground.
With difficulty, I returned to that garden that I called home, still discombobulated by the force of the air.
I watched it and repeated the words of my mother, that warning I had not listened to.
