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Johnny Cash’s “hurt” song sounds in the distance, his hoarse voice sings everything I feel. Sunday is a sad day. It is by default for us who dream and find nothing more but a wall in our path. It is for us who love the invisible nothing which cohabits with loneliness inside our hearts. It is for we idiots who pretend to be happy while there is something inside us eating our entrails and turning us into what we hate the most. What have I become, asks the master Cash. And I can only figure out that I am as sad as this day I’m leaving behind with the hope of a different tomorrow, maybe better. I might even dream of a Sunday where smiling is not hard. I’m seized by tears. I write line after line, barely guessing the traces of the letters I type on my computer.
Today I climbed the Tibidabo. I observed the town of Barcelona in it’s full splendor. It occured to me there are three million people down there living, loving and dying every day. Some of them laugh too. To think that I am a grain of sand on Mars makes me feel tiny. My mistakes seem reversible. A little light shines at the end of a tunnel of darkness I have been inhabiting for too long. I am better than what I am. A smile pops in my lips. Tomorrow I’m going to get someone to smile too. “I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel”, and you know what mister Cash, I am alive yet.