Si es de noche, escribo. Si escribo, fumo, Si fumo, reflexiono. Si reflexiono, sueño. Si sueño, vivo.
The fish girl liked to swim facing the sky through the water; the sky she saw throught the cold water was full of colorful changing shapes she was fascinated about.
She had heard that fished of the sky had soft feathered sails, but no matter how long she would stare at the sky, she hadn’t seen any of them. Day by day, she waited to see one of those beautiful fishes of the sky, with no result.
The fish girl liked to feel the contact of cold waves surrounding her body, making everything under her scales feel full of life and hope. Freezing bloodbumped her heart with scorching excitement and cold love. When she cried, cold drops of ice melted inside her acuatic environment. She was made of water.
One day, a warm current from the south bursted into the water of her world. She tried to swim faster to get rid of this anguishing embrance, but she could´t avoid being catched. While she was struggling with the last of her watery breath, the last cold drops from her heart slided from her greenery eyes, and turned into steam.
The steam went up from the water, and from the earth, and followed its way up, up to the sky, where -together- they formed a cloud, a dense cloud that turned into something else, a fish of the sky, with brand new white feathered sails. And then, she knew she belonged to the air. She was made of air.
The camera needs to be there for when the mask flinches and reveals the person behind, that precious moment in which there is no hiding, in which all poses have been killed.
It only lasts the blink of an eye.
Can I be honest with myself?