Torticollis Mataró Although it may sound like a strange Italian dish, it is not. Imagine…
emotional hygiene

emotional hygiene
I was in university back then. In Alicante. Among theorems, numbers, and libraries, among experiences, sex, and illusions. I remember sitting in class with worry in the left chair, effort on the right, and responsibility in the back desk persistently caressing my eardrums.
I got used to listening without attention, nodding without awareness, and pleasing others. I experienced living with a nightclub bouncer in my mind who only allowed ideas in if they were wearing shoes and a shirt. My words were filled with “I never” and values wrapped in aluminum foil…

