He becomes a victim of Medusa

I gather my weapons

I am ready to fight anything but my demons.

It makes sense but it’s not goo enough

I survive but I can’t live

He’s still petrified when I need him the most.

-We will be good-


This enemy

They’re coming to a town that has already been burnt down. They have heard of the war, but never tried to picture the battlefield. The devastation was beyond human comprehension, because in this war, the enemy was anything but human.

Flesh and bone are weak. Too easily destroyed. This villain goes further. This villain, smoother than a shadow, goes after you.

Like a lover who teases you slowly, getting closer to your lips, entranced on your eyes, waiting for you to melt in their arms, completely giving in until the last second, when they suddenly pull away without a word, nor a second glance. That feeling of despair is what it’s after.

This enemy will keep your body on the edge of life and death, but won’t let you push it all the way to either side.

Your lungs keep breathing. Your heart keeps pumping. Your brain keeps thinking. But everything is different now. Your life seems like somebody else’s now. This enemy has te power to alienate you from yourself until all you are is raw meat for it to feast on.

But there is one tiny section of you that’s gone roge against the attacker. This is the one that can and will finally safe you from its dreadful grip. And you will let it. And you will get yourself back.

After all that time you’ve spent not feeling, when you start again it is so deliciously intense that you become afraid. But don’t. Because you’ve already feared for too long. Now it is time to smile. Genuinely. Or cry. Or laugh. Or experience again all those wonderful contradictory human feelings you were deprived of for so lond. And hold on to them, for this enemy will now be stalking you forever; waiting for you to slip into its grasp once again.

This enemy will be the toughest one you’ll ever find, for this enemy lives within yourself.

My land that is no more.

Being from so many places at once, you risk being from nowhere at all.

I claim to be from the land where my roots fist spread. I believe that land will never be replaced. The land of my origins.

Leaving is easy and exhilarating. Coming back is what scares me the most. But I can’t help coming back. That’s the only thing in my life I can swear will never change.

I will keep coming back as much as I can hate it sometimes.

I am rooted to a land that is no longer my own. As much as my grip tightens on those roots, my land will keep treating me as a foreigner.

I dread coming back each time, becuse each time my land becomes less of my own.

Miña Terra, I love you, I have left you but not desserted you. Why is it then, that I’m condemned to feeling exiled?