Explicación

I cannot touch you, I'm sorry. Not now, not for a little bit, for a couple of weeks, for the next millions of seconds. I cannot get to you. I must not do it. Because I'm a blade, a storm, an earthquake. Right now, I'm not good. I'm a troll, a ghoul, a dementor. Now I am a glass, a crack, a sprain. The waters are dark, the sky is gray, the moon is high, the soil is muddy. It goes deep. I drag this void from before time, from before of being myself. I feel it under my ribs, in each fiber of my diaphragm, in every micrometer of my vertebras. I feel it scratching to the surface, grasping on my skull, pouring from my ears, my nose, between my teeth. Is the hungry, the nothingness in its greater splendor. It is the emptiness of all of us condensed in my brain, distilled from all happiness or sorrow, cleaned of envy or empathy, wiped out of any feeling or intention. It is the time eater. The mirror reflecting another mirror and nothing more but solely abyss. No word, no love, no science can break it. There is not magic allowed to get into this dimension. I cannot reach you, I should not reach you because it is the only way to protect you. I won’t be gentil, I won’t be me and my hands, or my words. I will be a predator, I will be teeth and blood, I will use all that I know to haunt you, to reach the tender space of your ideas where I know you are weak and vulnerable, and I will reap it off like glace, like stepped snow, like leaves on the fall. I do care about you, more that you can imagine. That is why I need to run away from you. That is exactly why I need to put me in a cage far from you, where I can not use my words to defile you, where I can not use my brain to hurt you, where I can save you from these claws.