Marcos Serrano

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Running from one side to another, bent down, without making noise, trying for them not to see me, they don’t smell me, they don’t hear me, they don’t notice my presence, they don’t detect my trace.
Being camouflaged with the environment, being invisible like the air…

But sometimes I don’t get it, and when they see me, people reprimand me, they insult me, they kick me and they fling some objects and I run, I run with all my strength, I run until the exhaustion, I run with my soul broken by the rejection, I run with my eyes full of tears by the mistreat, I run until my bones get broken and my muscles get torn, I run towards the darkness where I was born and where I feel safe because it is my place, it is my home. In the warmth of the darkness I flirt with the dream of being air, getting the embrace of the sun, being without being, seeing without being seen, embracing without rejection, caressing the naked skin, taking in your hair, and kissing your lips…

But the noise of the pipes woke me up of the dream, of the desire, of the idyllic fantasy, and turns me back to the reality. Nobody desires the rats and let an electrical rat like me.