Moult (Traces - 03/2021)

Infinite tiredness. My mind is fading. Cramps get hold of me one after another. Intense, unexpected contractions – some of them heartbreaking - that embody my being and my origin.

Repetitive dream. I die and I am born, over and over again. Each cycle differs from the previous one and each outcome surprises me, because they seem the same, but they never are.

A part of me escapes from my body and rises, observing everything from an unknown corner. I see my humanity lying asleep and I can feel its palpitations like those of a stranger. That game catches me and puzzles me.

My whole existence passes before me in a few seconds and I am surprised to notice the physical changes that show how life has marked me. This slow metamorphosis leaves a deep footprint that marks my skin that is changing, again.

Chills and severe pain. My epidermis is cracking and tiny particles, that emerge between slices of flesh and blood, escape from the parched skin and become a miraculous balm that surrounds me and marks the beginning of the end.

A blue rain falls so hard that it seems it wants to pierce me, but it actually elevates me towards healing. It gives me the strength to start over with my new skin, so similar but yet so different from the old one.

I wake up in shock, drenched, not from the drizzle of my dreams but from an intense sweat. Little by little my heart begins to beat normally, my pupils shrink and I recover my breath.

Clinging to my demons my fears dissipate. They are just a fuzzy and very distant memory. I sit up and know that I have to keep going in the eternal search of who I am.