There's no doubt, I've hit the three month hump. The day in and day out grisuras have seeped into my mind. My bones and body ache... rechinan... squeak like an un-oiled rusty machine. The pangs of my beating heart, and the longing of my soul clumping in my throat, sinking heavy deep down into my stomach like a boulder.
A wave of childhood memories. Old yellowed polaroid film-like images of the girl I once was. I keep imagining myself back there somewhere, bolita de angustia, staring out the window plotting her great escape from the misery around. Now I sit here in front of this window, la lloroncita contemplating the grayness and stillness of everyday. I imagine myself as one of those light-loving insects. I think about walking towards the sun the same way they fly towards the light in their ultimate demise.
My dreams are filled with firefly nights and paleta de limón days. Swinging back and forth en mi hamaca, getting wiffs of cacao beans en el metate. I can hear the sound of mi tía Elena's hands making tortillas en el comal... Chickens running back and forth in a frenzy con su manada de pollitos as my little brother tries to catch one to hold in his tiny hands. Una oleada de viento makes the hand made cortinas that hang in every door swop up into a dance. There I stay swinging back and forth en mi hamaca a daydreaming lloroncita.
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