Sunday, October 5, 2003
I’ve been facing a dilemma these past weeks. I came close to talking about it with my father this morning, but I didn’t because I’m not sure I should tell anyone about this. Ignorance may be in everyone’s best interest.
Because I hate to leave you wondering, lets eliminate some possible things I may be talking about:
No, I have not contracted a terminal disease.
No, I am not considering suicide.
No, I’m not thinking about going postal-worker on anyone.
No, I do not want to quit school.
No, I haven’t been kicked out of it.
No, I haven’t been fired from my job.
No, I do not want to fire at anyone at my job.
Oh, wait… 😀
I can’t be any more specific than that. I know I can’t be any more vague, either. 😀 Maybe I should have kept quiet about this, but there was a song I heard today that really fits my case. It’s as if its author had been in my brain when he wrote it.
Let me warn you, I’m afraid of many things…
I’m afraid that you will fly off from the palm of my hand like a bird.
I’m afraid that anything I do would be in vain.
I’m afraid to say I love you and then realize that I don’t.
I fear life, but I’m also afraid of death.
I’m afraid to leave and later lament having left.
I’m afraid to play and later lament having lost.
I’m afraid to seek you and find out that you have left.
I’m afraid to realize that eternity does not exist.
I’m afraid that yesterday’s flower may today lose its fragrance.
I’ve been afraid since the day I ceased to be an infant.
I’m afraid because screaming was yesterday my way of expressing myself.
I’m afraid that my silence is now my way of screaming.
De Muchas Cosas Tengo Miedo (Los Brios)
que como un pâˆšÂ°jaro te me vueles de la mano
de que todo lo que haga sea en vano.
de decirte que te quiero y no quererte
de vivir pero tambiâˆšÂ©n temo a la muerte.
de marcharme y lamentar haber partido
de jugar y lamentar haber perdido
de buscarte un dâˆšâ‰ a y saber que te fuiste
de saber que la eternidad no existe.
de que la flor de ayer hoy pierda su fragancia
desde el dâˆšâ‰ a en que dejâˆšÂ© atrâˆšÂ°s mi infancia.
porque ayer gritar era mi forma de ir hablando
que hoy callar sea mi forma de ir gritando.
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