My psychology teacher told me that we are born knowing everything and that life is the passing of remembering. We are libraries that collect dust until people dance into our lives to bring their spring wind and awaken our hibernation.
But my dilemma was that I did not remember who I was since everyone who entered was not careful, they left these traces, messes and memories that redecorated what I once knew.
They were no longer my favourite colours and my most used words, now they were the echo of every ghost that once promised to stay by my side.
And yes, maybe and perhaps my teacher was right, the psychologist was right, we are born being the cradle of the universe, we are made of our ancestors and our children.
We are raised knowing the past and the future, our hands are wars, our legs are borders and our eyes are history, it is a probability that we know life itself.
But I also know that my skin is your scent, my ears are all your sounds and my lips are your name.
Ta.
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