True stories about teenage depression: I walk

Stories and News No. 810

Last night a 14 year old boy - I read with health problems, was rescued by police in Rome, Italy, as he walked alone in the fast lane...

I walk.
Even now, I walk.
Blinded by the absurd illusion of achieving the running life.
And even overcoming it.
I am the guy that disturbs the normality of the moment, where everything is permitted, as long as nothing really changes.
And I am the girl who you cannot tell of, drawing her, let alone photographing. Because then the consciousness bans everything and then dares to explain that absence.
I am the cumbersome woman, personified excess, unpleasant in appearance as in the remembrance. Because then the memory transcribes everything and then dares to explain that presence.
And I am the man, who is out of tune in the melody as in the text, that you wish to never have met.
Loved.
Just watched.
I am one of the many who walk beside, in a significant travel fragment.
Fortunately on the last row.
And for a cruel fate a few centimeters to flow to the heart and eyes.
We are images of lives that must necessarily be retouched.
Reduced or cut.
Because touching dormant emotions and thoughts is fine.
Never completely awaken.
I am the silhouette in the background, or what fills it.
And, in the din of the engines, I advance.
Often falling down.
At the very best, sometimes I stand up.
Despite this happens more and more often.
I walk, yes.
I walk, even now.
Deluded by the absurd belief.
To be able to reach the whizzing world.
And even top it.
In the meantime.
Maybe someone will free himself of the machine which he is a prisoner of.
To walk together.
And perhaps stopping to take breath…

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