Writing with eyes
I had to learn to speak with my eyes. I have never been more productive than when my life was borrowed in time. When you have an illness, you don’t need to be reminded of your condition because the suffering or rather the ordeal is in your body and manifests itself all the time. You feel that someone or something has taken up residence and that you will share your life and your body with them from now on. The only thing you don’t know is the length of the lease, of the roommate. We feel inside a mass that is sometimes inert, sometimes mobile but very heavy. The cover-up attempts are in vain because I have read my reprieve in the eyes of others. I was no longer the same. This ordeal is a moment in your life, the only time I really felt myself as if the tenant had revealed who I really am. I began to write more and more to the point of being able to write with my eyes to deceive the gaze of others.
Writing with the eyes is to sincerely convey emotions and guide those of others.
Solitary by nature, I feel even more alone at times. I can no longer find the wise advice of my two eternal magnets because without saying words, they wrote the solutions with their eyes. No long speeches but a look that bares the soul and makes it clear that they know and that when the time comes I will find solutions to the problems posed. They read and wrote with their eyes.
In this period, when the mask is an obligation, it is more than essential to know how to read in the eyes of others and to write with the eyes in order to mark the spirits.
To my two eternal stars: Dad and Mom
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