it hurts. but each day it hurts a little less. it’s a different kind of pain, the kind that doesn’t stay here gnawing at me, but that occasionally comes back to hurt. i’ve been trying to do many things at once, trying to silence my feelings so they don’t escape me and cause more damage. every day after work, i go to the beach. i stay there watching the sky turn red, but i leave before night arrives. i wasn’t supposed to be there alone.
i started developing a website and it was quite fun. now it’s nicely rounded, ready for me to start writing on it, but i don’t really know where to begin⑵. i wanted to use it to better develop my understanding of alchemy, tarot, and other things that interest me.

last week, i asked for something, and they are beginning to materialize. contrary to what i thought, nothing was taken from me… silence sometimes feels like an answer, but not this time. at night, the world will repeat itself again, and in the morning, everything once more. occasionally, something new, or the same, as always, shows why it came to be in the first place.

that’s why, in every possible way, i’ve been trying to do at least one thing (to prevent the world from repeating itself). remember that […] is not just a souvenir of a terrible year.

[…]

when i go to the beach, i face all that immensity and declare myself. again. and again. the hand that gives is the same that takes away. everything that was hanging is slowly falling. this saturday, a vase that had been on the kitchen window for ever fell, and there wasn’t even any wind outside. today i bought a new vase for my little plants and decided to place it in the bedroom this time—[…]
even though the vase (structure) broke, the plants suffered no harm. the water 🜄 ran under the door and left a funny trail along the building’s hallway. even if structures seem damaged or truly are, neither the water 🜄 nor the plants 🜃 underwent any change. their nature of growth, persistence, plays with time, irresolute. the shapes on the floor and the greenish leaves with yellowed tips.

in any case, now the vase sits on the bedroom table. it has a funny shape. i can see the roots tracing a contour inside it, as if it had a new body—do you understand? […] everything is an exercise weighing upon temperance, restraint. nothing is mine or belongs to me, and this body was nothing, yet, it comes to me and attaches itself. whether by plane from asia, under wheels, or by a pair of feet beneath the irreducible world and itself, a carriage. galloping and galloping.

i honestly didn’t understand it, but when the night repeated itself as the world repeated itself at night, there was, from afar, a gentle sound of arrival, a monorhythm. a sound that moves and can bring down what was hanging.
now at night, i make some tea, i listen to you, and i calmed down. it hurts, but every night it hurts a little less. it’s the same body, entirely in motion, vibrant, unaware of the pain. all of this is already mine and belongs to me. and as my tea cools, i wonder if maybe tomorrow i’ll lie so i can spend the day doing something that truly makes sense, so that i too can fall trying to see things from another angle.

entry transcribed from my diary — january 12, 2026, 10:55pm.