Then everything exploded: my childhood and youth spread throughout my being, like a beautiful and happy chaos. Everything that seemed inexplicable before, now made sense. My memories and my imagination mixed and danced, to the point of not knowing how to distinguish them, like mischievous twins.

My home was not where I lived, but where I flew; And love was something that I couldn't grasp.

Yes, all that chaos was perfect, but also unalterable; because everything interacted with total indifference towards me, and I was there as a silent and resigned observer. Nothing looked at me because I was no different; because maybe I'm just a memory, because I'm just something someone imagines, because I don't exist, I'm unreal, or because I'm dead.

This artwork belongs to the collection "7 stories", by Alejandra Her.