I would like to cry,
yes, I wish I could,
yet I can’t.

What is its point,
if not to relieve one’s heart?
To let go, to take a deep breath.
To cry out your pain, to open your heart.
To express one’s discomfort,
even that, is forbidden to me.

So I remain there, alone in front of my pain,
heavy silence as a company, facing myself.
I am frightened by this dull and dreary existence,
prisoner by this winter that compresses my life.

I would like to be free, to be myself.
But who am I really?
I confess I don’t know!
What an unfortunate observation!
Isn’t it so?


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