My Existential Knee

We are dying.
All of us.

Pause.

We, in a way, started dying as soon as we were born.

Pause.

I had a sports injury.

Patellofemoral pain, or commonly called ‘runners knee’.
My knee had decided to infuriate me.
I limped my way for about two weeks.
I didn’t really rest… I was trying to be ‘super’.

‘The patella is damaged’.

Patella…
I only knew my knee as ‘right knee’.
I didn’t think there were separate parts to it.
Like a skeleton to a body…

Kryptonite.

I may come across as some type of hypochondriac.

Illnesses and injuries are a delicate topic, they make me really anxious.
But who doesn’t feel this way?

The line between life and death so undefined.

Death- as I see it, could find us anywhere. Any day, any time of day.
What if no one remembers me?
The sun will rise for at least 5 billion more years, but my existence is limited.
My expiry date due.
But when?
The ink is blurry…

What happens after that?

Dreamless sleep?
An encounter with the unconscious?
Silence.
Quiet.

A sharp pain in my knee reminds me that I am still here.

Pause.

Sigh.

‘Patella Discomfortis’, I would call it.

The End.

(not mine)

Fantasma.

La invisibilidad de su persona.

La espontaneidad de su curiosidad.
A medias.
Vagabundea por los corredores de la casa.
“No es nada.” “No es nada.”, escucha a la vieja calmando a la niña.
“Es solo el viento.”
“El viento no camina”, reclama él sin ser escuchado.

Las cuencas de sus ojos somnolientos, oscuras, como tumbas.

Qué poco solicitados los fantasmas estos días.
Ya nadie los considera seres vivos.
Ya todos olvidaron sus pecados.