Let’s say, to put you in the right context, that you are rushing your last day of rest, a good breakfast, a coffee with milk in a terrace bar, rushing those few rays of sun that have been emerging, perhaps even, if you are one of me, those who like to sit, relax and read, you are almost almost, waiting for time to slow down, something you know as impossible, in short, I’m super calm and happy, when at the next table I hear … it hurts to hear yourself think.
I don’t look up from the book, but I admit that I have stopped reading, the phrase… I don’t know, it shocks me, maybe I look slyly to where the voice has come from and see who has been the author of such a phrase.
Well, surprise, I don’t know, it’s a girl, a middle-aged woman, and don’t ask me how old is middle-aged, because I have no fucking idea, she is not a young girl, but neither a sweet old lady with gray hair, she is simply a woman of an age that I can’t calculate, what a surprise, and she is talking on her cell phone.
I go back to my work, but the phrase … it hurts to hear me think ….
And here I am, walking or rather limping with this knee of mine that is turning into plasticine, thinking about what hurts me more, if the knee or rather think about the fucking fucking fucking knee.
But no, it doesn’t hurt my knee more, it hurts to hear myself thinking about a specific moment, in that instant that came with the surprise of someone who doesn’t expect it, the reasons she or he had to tell you what hurt so much, and that even now, even after so much time has passed, remembering it, it still hurts because of how you heard him tell you.
It hurts to hear yourself think.
It hurts not to be able to avoid that memory is so cruel.
It hurts that that single instant masks all those smiles that arose without ceasing, without wanting to, those desires of caresses that appeared without thinking about it, that squinting your eyes and just breathing softly…
It hurts not to be able to balance the scales and at least stay in equality of sensations.
But even this pain is diminished by time, the one that tells us that it is only a part of all that we are, a small part if we choose, a huge burden if we let it.
So, as long as the path is pronounced, as long as my memory does not fail me, I will keep thinking, I will keep remembering, I will keep listening to myself, to how I gave myself, how I gave myself sometimes, without reserve, everything I was, what I am, what I still do not know I will be, and just as if it were a paracetamol, that pain of listening to me… diminishes.
It is true that it hurts to listen to oneself, but it is only a part, a small part of how I keep listening to myself, how I keep telling myself out loud, of what I am still capable of, of all those challenges I want to keep facing, in which I will lose some, others I will draw, and well, from time to time I have to win a challenge, don’t I?
I think it would hurt me more, if instead of listening to myself think, what I did was just that, not thinking, vegetating in endless days with no other goal than … none.
I choose to live and …
I will think about it.
*** Translated with http://www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version) ***