Sir:

Out there I see faces and they seem perfect to me when they smile, faces that sometimes I would like to possess to also carry marked happiness, but suddenly I realize that their color changes, suddenly it becomes pale, it is a dead piece that no longer remains, it is not part of the skin, it is only a temporary layer like a crust that sours and slowly peels off to make way for a new one, sometimes I think that it is forbidden not to wear a mask.

I have been looking for months for someone who seems not to be wrong, to get it out of my head once and for all that you Paulina are the only real one in this world; however, in my search, I have only found people who destroy each other, who betray for money or sex, etc.

Are you really sincere with yourself Paulina?

I will never know what goes through your head, but of one thing I am sure, falsehood is everywhere and sometimes you do not know when you fall for an instant in that role in which you act or invent to not accept reality, we lie to not say that we are missing, we pretend so they do not discover that it hurts us, we build the present even if we doubt if it was really worth discarding who meant everything. I believe that there is no one sincere in this life, no matter how much it seems so, not even you are, Paulina.

All this time I have beaten my chest, I have cut my hands looking for answers to my questions among the thorns, I have accepted my mistakes, I have shouted in front of the mirror my sadness and in front of some people I have shown my defects, I notice how they observe me, they look at me strange for the simple fact of wanting to expel so much shit that I keep inside, maybe to prove to myself that I am capable of starting something without masks without fear of hurting or getting hurt. I don't want them to think that I play the victim or that I only think of myself, as you wrote in that letter full of rage before sending me to hell.

When I remember that time when I felt appreciated, alive, full of a very crazy joy, my eyes betray me, tears start to come out and I have to isolate myself. Now I cry easily, I have become so fragile that the layer that hid my grief rots and has become unbearable. It is a mistake to keep thinking that I am the worst thing in this world, it is stupid to keep blaming myself and trying to convince myself every moment when your image or your eyes come to my mind that you are right, that I don't deserve you, but what if you didn't deserve me either?

Why do I have to stab my heart so much if in reality I was maturing with you, I was learning to be a better person for me and for you, of that scab or mask, only 10% was left.

Paulina, between tears, I write the following, the tattoo of your lips on my neck no longer goes, now I only imagine half a blade in its place, but I still have a phobia of needles, I no longer want to travel with someone, I visualize the empty seat next to me, I will continue behind the microphone without making a perfect duet, because your voice and mine only remained in the air in a beautiful dream. I will never replace you for those who are still half in my life, nor for others who will come someday, you are unique, you are the story that I liked and that I would be able to reread a thousand times. I wish you could see me, the scab has completely fallen off my face, I'm starting to heal, I believe and I'm taking care of every step I take so I don't make the same mistakes, I walk the streets showing my true scar, even if everyone turns away because of my true appearance.

I'd like to see you open your arms and shelter me in them, it's too cold without you my dear.

_{This was the process for the realization of my drawing.}