Script II

- You know, I think that, when I found out that I can make good to people, I forgot that I can make them hurt as well.
I also forgot, I myself can hurt and that I've spent many years trying not to blame myself because of that.

- Hurting you or the others?

- Both - She sighed. - I... I feel so ashamed. I'm guilty and proud of being myself in the same proportion. I'm commited to change for the ones I love, as long as I forget I should be the one I love the most. And there's something inside of me that tells I love to be me despite all. I even love the harm that I cause. I love the irrational, I love the magic, I love the anxiety and the surprise. I love the view from my eyes. What I'm trying to say is that... I love feeling, because, I know how it is not being able to do it.

And then she started to cry. And the mourning was so intense, she had to hide her face. She couldn't let herself be seen, ebarrassment had taken over her, and she quickly forgot everything that made her proud of herself. As soon as nothing had any sense again, there was no more reasons to love anything about her. To want to be there, anywhere in the world.

 Her friend was there, looking at her steadily, with a pity looking in her eyes. She touched her face several times, looking for something to say, wondering whether a hug would help or not. She felt herself doubtful and not at ease.

- Why do you hate you so much? - she asked finally. Maybe it was a question she owed to herself.

She looked at her, with her eyes red and her look lonely and desperate. She couldn't cry anymore, even if she wanted. But she took the question seriously and tried to reply. Her mouth became rigid, she shrugged her lips and looked at the floor.

- I don't know. We tend to believe always the worst. Even when I, sometimes, love myself so intensely I do believe it's true, when it comes to the time that I cannot bare being myself, I just feel like a fool. A misguided fool that thought she loved herself for so long... - she looked at the ceiling, and made a gesture that looked like a smile. Her smile when she cried was beautiful and terrible.

It's terrible we can find beauty in pain, we are even more receptive those times, we look at the others more carefully and get better at observing. And she was terribly beautiful with her eyes red, her tears dry and her humanity down.