Diario de Bitacora

Is not fair, is not fair that the air just let me here, alone, closed as a wardrobe. Growing walls of bravery around me. Being a survivor is not fair, I get tired of smiling.

Lying here, in days like that all I want is to rip off my body and let all the crap out of my stomach, of my brain. Stay open, share, feel that I can broke and someone will help me to put all the pieces back to their place. In hours as this one, I really miss feel vulnerable, light.

And yet, you turn around, hide your face in the pillow and put another brick in the wall.