Tell me
from the pieces
what was left of the mirror that
that reflected you,
of the shadows you saw under the door
lying next to fear.
Of the pieces that were left
after you got naked
of you,
When your skin smelled of water
When you felt the stones
that did not carry the river.
Those that remained.
Of the times that you wanted to leave
but there was no door
nor was the one with all the keys.
Of the questions
stuck
between the hairs in the bathtub
that do not go away and do not stop spinning.
Yeah from the mirrors
abandoned
which are only glass
and that I haven't swept yet,
I didn't even look
I say that one
that carries his body and his soul
everywhere
And he brushes them sometimes with other bodies and other similar souls
One that responds to a name
-attributed and adopted-
And that he traces a journey from the cradle to the grave
One who breathes and suffers
like any
He has the right to find himself
To wake up from the dream in which he is plunged
Even if his life is gone.