THE GRAVE SOMEWHERE IN EDEN
You will enter my life expecting me to be your paradise.
But listen, I want to tell you something before you die believing that lie.
I am not the blessed water that will heal your heartaches and cramps. Your tiredness, your problems, your darkness. Because I get tired of myself most of the time holding my personal dark.
I am not those vivid mountains you climb atop to see the wide plain of your grass. I am not your beautiful wander, that voyage to become one with the forest wilds.
I am not that adventure that will take you somewhere beyond the land.
Because I won't go.
Even if I'm with you. Even if it's you.
I just want to rest from the kind of tired that's natural in my body. From the kind of tired I do not know where exactly roots.
I am not the walk you want to build around that paradise.
I cry at simple things, at a dying cat, a crying grandma, or the death of a bird.
I cannot be your strength but a burden.
I am not your Garden of Eden.
I am its grave.