I feel like a dry branch of a tree whose leaves are slowly falling to the ground to be hit by the wind just to roll without stopping down the street, my walk is slow the weight of my soul has stooped my spirit, it costs me lift your head.
The days pass in such an uncontrolled way that I have lost the ability to count them. It seems to me that yesterday was Monday and today it is Friday, the weekend was lost from my calendar a long time ago, I looked for it and I searched unsuccessfully but I did not succeed I found it until I gave up and my attention was focused on something else ...
I leave in the morning and returned in the afternoon and when I start to meditate on what I have done on the day I do not remember it, I do not know how I went out, where I was with whom I spoke and much less how I returned. The truth is that I'm back home, something like magic ...
I am going to bathe, I try to keep myself clean, because I really do not know at what moment I can not move definitively and I no longer have the will to cleanse myself. I do not want that if they arrive to me to find in bed, the people say that he was a dirty old man ...
The only company and my sincere friend that I have is my dog, which does not forsake me for a single minute. I believe that he is that Guardian that until now I had not discovered, it is who brings me and brings me, he is the magic for which I return home every day. Because he knows the way home ...
When he gets home he sits down to observe me, I think he already knows what is happening in me, he knows me and he knows that I'm not the same anymore, that I've changed, that little by little I've been losing myself in the dark labyrinth and no return of my damaged neurons ...
