In the quiet solitude of his room, he meticulously arranged his life. Books found their place on shelves, each spine a testament to the stories he cherished. Clothes and shoes were neatly tucked away in closets, a semblance of order amidst the chaos. Cutlery and dishes were carefully stacked, symbols of shared meals and silent conversations.

His journal, a repository of thoughts and dreams, lay open on the desk, pages filled with the ink of his soul. Time, that elusive entity, was measured and compartmentalized, each moment accounted for. Anxiety and love, those twin forces, were given their own spaces, one in the shadows, the other in the light.

He organized his gods and demons, placing them side by side, acknowledging their coexistence. Fears and truths were laid bare, no longer hidden in the recesses of his mind. His boss and his mother, figures of authority and care, were given their due respect, their influence undeniable.

Sorrows and deprivations, hypocrisies and pains, were tucked away in drawers and basements, out of sight but never out of mind. Sleep, that elusive comfort, was folded into sheets, a promise of rest that often eluded him.

In the dark corners of each word, he found the others—the dream, the bedroom, and in his own chest, where he cried for freedom. It was here, amidst the organized chaos, that he sought solace, a semblance of control in a world that often felt uncontrollable. And in this act of organization, he found a fleeting sense of peace, a momentary respite from the turmoil within.

© Beatriz Esmer

Dry Pastel Art – Povos