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I miss you as I miss that my hands run over a blank sheet of paper, spreading feelings of overvalued ones, expecting that someday they will be read and their endless course will find its home. This feeling that invades me openly populates my loneliness with your face as if your image venerated by thousands could give back the impulse to my slowed and voluntary breathing as if the fact of feeling this way should make my exhausted heartbeat without excuses. I miss you, and writing it reinforces my fears, reminding me of the insignificance of my condition in front of you. Even when I try to rationalise this bloated feeling, I can't control it; I can't make logic win and tied to a constant agony, I dream of you even if it's not allowed; I feel you without it being rational, and when the tears fall blurred the limit of my face, I feel the emptiness, the immensity of not being. I understand my reality, this miserable being. I am invisible, obsolete, useless and forgotten that I became as I traverse this mediocre path I call life. I will say it for the last time, even with shame; even if it seems that I shouldn't, I will say that I miss you. While I retire to take refuge, as Benedetti once said, "in my gloomy winter quarters", I will hold like the skein of Ariadne, a dilapidated glimpse of hope hidden in a memory created in my dreams that habit once in your eyes. #4bttd #poem #poesia #시