Translated from the Spanish original by L.G.G.
There was a time when the world
didn’t weigh so much.
The days didn’t hurt.
And my mind—
that cage without bars—
finally seemed to grow quiet.
I thought: I’m back.
I laughed with my whole mouth again,
slept without inner wars,
stopped being afraid
of my own reflection.
But then…
the emptiness returned.
Without noise,
without reason,
as if it had never really left.
And here I am.
Again.
With that nameless sadness
pressed against my chest,
and that anxiety that won’t let go,
not even in my dreams.
I feel fragile.
Guilty.
As if relapsing
were a sin—
when really,
it’s just part of the path.
I haven’t failed.
I’m not weak.
I haven’t gone back to the beginning.
I’m learning.
I’m healing,
even if this time I had to fall
to keep climbing.
And even though breathing feels hard today,
I promise not to give up.
Because I know—deep down—
that even in the thickest fog,
the light is still there.
Waiting for me.