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Brian Alvarado Petit is a Venezuelan writer and poet, characterized by his sweetness and fantasy when writing his poems or stories.


Many say that the moon can tell you so many things, but what does it say? There are so many things that they say so many things and thus infinitely, they speak without speaking. They don't actually make any sound ... But we do.

I have heard what I think the moon would tell me ... But does the moon really care what happens to me how to advise me? I doubt it and I don't believe it. And I can't help but think that it is impossible for the moon to speak, or for the stars to speak. And I make them talk, but it's just me talking to myself so I'm not alone.

But I am still alone.

And my voice is still distant in my mind.

Am I losing her? Losing someone else's voice is easy, you just cover your ears ... And that's it. Nothing happens.

But stop listening to yourself. It is a very different and terrifying thing.

I realized that I was not listening to myself. And not listening to yourself is like not hearing at all.

Someone is talking to me. He lovingly tells me that everything will be fine, that it is fine. That I can with everything.

But then that person leaves, not forever, they just go somewhere else for a few days or hours.

I am left alone. With myself. But I am two people. We are all two or more people, I think.

And when the distortions come I try to bring back the good voices, which spoke to me in the first place. But you do not hear the voices of those who said those words, only their prayers with my voice. But I no longer hear them.

They are overshadowed by something that I do not know, or that I do know but do not know how to control.

Then I feel empty and full of things that rust me.

I become stiff and lifeless for very long moments that I could not define in translatable times.

I get lost. I'm not. And I stop believing that I was. And I think I should erase every trace of my existence.

I no longer work, it no longer worked, there is nothing to do.

Well, if future struggles come, I can't win them because I started losing a long time ago and I no longer know how to win in any way.

There are no weapons I can use. No shields. No legs to run. No arms endowed with strength to climb. No voice with which to shout for help. Nothing.

I empty myself in consecutive and interminable vomits. Until I pour my blood down my arms and legs. Until it turns black and hard and no longer sprouts.

Then I get up. I stop being non-existent and I wipe away my tears and my wounds.

And I smile.

And I walk

And I leave the room.

And I'm fine now ... Until the silent voices of my mind return.

And I guess I won't be okay anymore.

Until well, one day those voices will be eloquent enough for me to fully obey and

Stop living.

But in the meantime, I just smile. And everything is fine".

© 2021 Brian Alvarado Petit

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