CUADERNO DE BITÁCORA

3am conversations

Today you recognised my existence for the first time in years.

You recognised that I was alive, that I could breathe, feel, speak and that I wasn't just some ugly furniture around you.

I can see that you haven't changed a thing at all. Despite this, the people you hang out with now be(lie)ve that before you were just a boring mate, a big contrast with the party animal you are now.

But let me tell you something.
You still haven’t lost your insomnia and that’s your personal mark. Big black bags under your eyes that are the same kind as the ones you used to carry around when we were friends. When we sent messages to each other. But those talks are far away from now. Knowing you as I do, I can swear that you are still a sad girl.
Let me explain you the hints I caught.
You only smiled when you are looked at, and don’t you dare telling me it’s because you had a tired day or just an argument with your father
It’s not “just an argument with your father” it’s his shadow which keeps haunting you. He is the reason why you started lighting cigarettes. To keep his breath away from your lungs you had to fill them out with other substances and smoke was the available one.
Let me tell you that the way you throw shade about me it’s unbelievable. Let me remind you about all the pinky promises, the friendship bonds and the "I'll tell nobody" that break into pieces each time you tell one of your friends every single one of my embarrassing secrets.
But from time to time you still look at every corner, trying to discover in them my mind. You look everywhere because you need that person that understands you the most. The one that knows you wear a mask everyday to school and that you need to take it down to find peace in your inner true self. Even though you think that if you let anyone see the real you, they will ran away.
You are made of darkness, but that's okay for me, because light blinds me.
So sometimes you need me. And you text me again and conversations flow as if there hadn't been any gap of time and anger between them. As if you hadn't even erased my contact name from your phone so your friends can't find out you are speaking with "The Nerd" of the class.
So late night texts, early morning texts.
It's still 1am, 3am, 5am and here we are, each one in her bedroom but questioning everything.
We speak about talking cats, the fact that we don't have feelings and how aliens, they call themselves our family and friends, can't read our minds yet.
Thankfully.